Heimatfront Episode Three: The Great Hunting
by CaptainDavidBlake
Summary: Central Germany, April 15, 1945. After having gone through hell once, the newly formed Baderberg Panzer Squadron is once again called into action to face the unyielding Allied advance over their Fatherland. This time the girls will have to face the hardened American troops, as well as an unexpected and fearsome new foe.
1. Ysabelle

DISCLAIMER

1 - This is a fanwork made for fun and to spread the love for all things _Girls Und Panzer_ and History around. _Girls Und Panzer_ belongs to its legal owners, as well as its characters and story. Also the show is awesome and you should really buy the DVDs.

2 - I need to thank F-14 Tomcat Lover, Kite Tanril, Soviet Fox, TerracotaVulture, Theralion, Yemi Hikari and the helpful guys at the Girls Und Panzer FaceBook group for all the help and support. The good parts of this fic only exist thanks to them. The bad parts, though, are all mine.

* * *

"_Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope_."

Aristotle

* * *

I

YSABELLE

As the moisture of the dawning stuck to her clothes and skin, enveloping her slender body in a cold embrace, Ysabelle started to question whether that had been a good idea after all. The nearest American troops were already glancing at her, their heads sticking out of their foxholes, observing the lonely girl who had strode out of the nearby woodland. Fortunately, no-one raised his gun, surely dismissing her as a potential threat.

Ysabelle swallowed thickly, and kept walking, making her best to avoid the outer line of defense and trying to get deep into the American ranks. She was trembling, both of cold and fear, feeling, deep inside, a desperate urge to run away from there. But at that point she guessed it would only startle the invaders and maybe earn her a bullet in the back.

So, she inhaled deeply and kept walking. Above her the morning sky was still dark. It was becoming easier to see around, but the thick cover of low clouds in the sky shrouded most of the light, keeping the world under a veil of cold grey, towers of falling rain moving all across the landscape.

Another gust of cold wind made her shiver yet again. Ysabelle started rubbing her shoulders, her mind wandering into why she was doing that and assuming such a big risk. The conversation she and the rest of Anglerfish Team had last night, when the 77th _Panzergrenadiers_ were travelling past the River Mulde to prepare for the day's attack, was still fresh in her mind.

"Do you think we'll be truly able to take pressure off of the troops defending Leipzig?" Simone had asked Maria. She was sitting on the radio-operator post of the _Panzer_ IV, leaning against the armor plate to her right, and although Ysabelle couldn't see her face she'd guessed she was worried sick.

"Do you think your parents are still there?" Maria asked back, knowing very well what was crossing her mind. Simone sighed.

"They don't have anywhere else to go. I just hope they find a safe place to take shelter in." She then turned back to peek inside the fighting compartment, a melancholic smile on her face. "Oh, who am I kidding? They would be ones worried if they ever knew what I'm doing right now!"

"I think all of our parents would," Hanna replied from the driver's post.

"That's true," Simone turned towards Maria once again. "If this plan works and we do gather the attention of all the Americans in the region, we will be in a serious numerical disadvantage, though."

There wasn't a simple reply to that. Ysabelle noticed Maria's expression becoming slightly darker as she was probably considering her chances of surviving past that day. It broke her heart to see the younger Nitzschmann uneasy like that, so she decided that something had to be done to cheer her up.

"Don't you worry!" She exclaimed, sounding much more confident than she actually felt. "Not to brag about it, but I happen to know the specs of most of the American vehicles. So you'll know exactly where to aim and what to avoid!"

That did the trick. From her command chair Maria presented her with a slight smile. But her expression turned serious just a moment later. She even covered her mouth with a hand as something hit her.

"It would also be good to have a notion of the numbers we will be facing and their disposition."

It would really be a plus, but how could they even start to guess those details when there was not enough intelligence available, and the attack was planned to happen right after the sunrise?

Ysabelle tried to think about something to say, to make Maria smile like she'd done a second ago. But her thoughts were interrupted by a confused muttering coming from the other side of the fighting compartment.

"Why are we doing this? Night should be used to sleep… This is inhuman."

The rest of the crew didn't know how, but Meike had managed to squeeze her short and slender body beside the gunner's chair, so she could lie in the bottom of the fighting compartment, with a cushion under her head. Unfortunately for her the moving tank shook rather impetuously and the engine's roar echoed inside the vehicle like a thunderstorm. The stink of burned oil and fuel didn't help her intentions of taking a nap either.

At least her complaints also managed to bring a slight smile to the commander's face.

"Oh, poor thing." Simone chuckled. "She never manages to get her sleep."

Maria also chuckled, and then she yawned and rubbed her face.

"I need coffee…"

The whole crew was a little strained. Although they'd managed to rest for a while before the sunset, it still wasn't enough. They didn't manage to sleep much in the previous day due to the terrible night that changed their lives. In fact they would need all the help they could get to get through the next day. The bad weather was an advantage, but it still wouldn't be enough.

That was why Ysabelle was there, walking into the enemy lines, her shoes sinking into the mud while innumerous pairs of hostile eyes focused on her. She had to do something to help her friends, and only her, armed with her knowledge, could tell what each vehicle was and how many guns they would be facing.

Still, there was a method to her madness, and she'd discussed it with the grenadiers who travelled with her to the edge of the American lines. The invaders would never see a teenage girl as a spy, at least not in an active battle zone. Such a thing wasn't surely the German way. So she hoped they would think her as just another refugee, or a curious youngster, lost and scared.

While such thoughts ran wild around her mind, Ysabelle started seeing what she was there to find. A pair of Sherman tanks was parked on the top of a hill, one of them sporting a suspension like she'd never seen before, the name '_Sergeant_ _Oddball' _painted along the enlarged main gun. The machine seemed more robust that most of its kind, and although she correctly suspected it was a M4A3 model, she couldn't actually guess exactly which exact variant it was. The M4A3E8s had only arrived in Europe in December of the previous year, after all.

It still made her excited. Ysabelle had never been that close to one of the ubiquitous American machines before, and the thought made her forget part of her fear and cold.

More vehicles were standing down the line, among them a few more of those newer Shermans, a few of the older tank destroyer models with their characteristic open roofs, armored cars, and even M3 half-tracks, all carefully spaced to make them less vulnerable to artillery fire. It surprised her that the Americans were allowing her to go that far without anyone coming by to stop her.

Ironically enough, as soon as that idea formed on her head she glimpsed a pair of GIs approaching her from the right. Trying not to raise any suspicions she stopped and turned towards them, trying to look as confused as possible.

"Halt, _Fräulein_." One of the Americans said, with a calm, non-threatening, tone.

Trembling nonetheless, Ysabelle realized she couldn't bring herself to say anything. To make things worse the Americans came even closer, their rifles hanging in her hands.

"Are you okay?" The same American who spoke before asked.

What to do? For some reason Ysabelle thought it would be better not to let them know she spoke English. So she simply shook her head, trying to look as confused and scared as possible. It wasn't too hard.

"What are you doing here?" The soldier insisted, gesturing with ample movements. His companion, standing beside him, was starting to look nervous. Realizing it would be better to do something, Ysabelle went for the first thing that crossed her mind. She gestured, pointing to her mouth and signaling she was thirsty.

"What's going on in there?" Someone yelled from the nearby foxholes.

"It's another hungry refugee." The GI who had stayed silent up to that point said.

_Another refugee?_ The thought made Ysabelle feel a void in her stomach. The country was really falling apart, now was it? And yet, even after getting mixed in the fighting, she still didn't knew anything, except for the occasional comments or the way even the _Panzergrenadiers_ were lacking in every imaginable item.

While she run those doubts through her mind the soldier who had tried to talk to her gave another step forward, grabbing his canteen and taking something from one of his pockets. In spite of his apparent friendliness, Ysabelle still gave a step back.

"Don't be afraid." The man said. "Here, have this." He held the canteen and the unmistakable rectangular shape of a Hershey chocolate bar. Weary, Ysabelle forced herself to give a step forward and grab both items. After giving a few steps back, she took a long gulp from the canteen. It was actually quite refreshing. She'd barely noticed how dried her mouth had become.

Satiated, she returned the canteen, but kept the chocolate to herself.

"Stop fraternizing with the enemy, private!" It was the same voice from before, coming from the nearby foxholes. It was probably an NCO or an officer, as the soldier in front of Ysabelle suddenly became quite nervous.

"You have to go now." The American said. "It's not safe here."

Keeping with her act, Ysabelle hesitated, prompting the man to wave his arms. "Shoo!"

The meaning of that would be evident in any language, so Ysabelle decided she'd pushed her luck too far already, and started walking back to the set of low bushes beyond the defensive lines. She did so slowly, although feeling an almost unbearable urge to start running madly.

Feeling the chocolate bar against her breast pocket, Ysabelle came to the sad conclusion that the Americans seemed quite nice. And that she and the others would have to kill them in an hour or so.

After a while she thought to be out of sight, and ran through the underbrush, hoping her escorts would still be where she'd seen them last.

"You actually came back." Crotched between a dense pack of underbrush, Eren Jäger glanced at the girl in front of him, unable to hide his surprise. "That idea was incredibly dumb, you know that?"

"I've told you the Americans would never suspect a girl. We wouldn't, at least."

Eren snorted. In his humble opinion they shouldn't even be there, much less with a girl. But the Colonel insisted in making a preliminary observation with a very small team to see where the tip of the American advance in that area was. Ysabelle joined them when they were about to leave the camp, insisting that only she had the knowledge to correctly identify the enemy vehicles. As she was starting to take too much of his time, Eren allowed her to go with them.

Then they'd arrived there, and Ysabelle came up with the plan to go alone into the enemy lines to get a good view of their vehicles and positions. It was another short but intense discussion and, again, he finally allowed her to do what she pleased. Incredibly enough, it worked.

"Did you manage to see something we can use?" Armin Arlert was the second of Ysabelle's escorts in that mission, and, contrary to Eren, he was more worried with the practical aspects of the mission. Although the worry shown by the later touched her, Ysabelle still liked how Arlert was so pragmatic. It made her effort feel worthwhile.

"I did. The Ami is really upping up his game. They outgun us, I fear."

On the other hand Eren was still incredulous they actually went ahead with that insanity, so he made the question that had been stuck in his head for the last hour or so.

"Is that important for you to please that girl?" Honestly, he was kind of questioning himself regarding what he thought about Maria Nitzschmann. She was certainly a one-of-a-kind young woman, with her knowledge about warfare and an apparently innate capacity to lead.

The reverting back to the original conversation surprised Ysabelle slightly, but she understood Eren's point. Her reply, though, surprised both of them.

"It's not only her…"

"Guys?" While Ysabelle replied to Eren's question, Armin maintained an eye over their surroundings. His weak call was enough to move the others' attention to where he was pointing at, somewhere in the wide valley between the hills.

Seeing a squad in full combat gear walking slowly among the musty grass down there was enough to send adrenaline pumping through the veins of the three teenagers. Even though Eren had seen some though fights already, he still shivered with the prospect of having to face the enemy on his own, away from any immediate support.

"It's time to scram." He muttered.

Slowly, the three of them started to crawl back to the sparse woodland behind the hill. The underbrush covering seemed quite complete when they go there during the last moments of the night, but now with the day starting to get clearer, a rather ample gap they didn't noticed before became evident.

Down there, the Americans were starting to climb the slope. Comprehensibly nervous for being in enemy territory and doubly alert due to that, the sergeant at the head of the patrol saw the Germans crawling in the opening, little more than shadows against the dark grey sky. He raised his Garand and cried an alert to his men.

Up in the top of the hill, the scout team heard his yelling. The first bullet went too wide and cut through some shrubbery to Ysabelle's right. The respective sound echoed in the morning a fraction of a second later.

Eren wasted no time grabbing Ysabelle by the waist and forcing her to stand up. "Run!"

Suddenly they were running down the opposite slope, entering in the line of threes while the American GIs went on pursuit. Ysabelle's lungs started burning as she inhaled through her mouth, her heart pumping violently in her chest. There was the crackle of a Thompson submachine gun somewhere behind her, inciting her to run even faster, ignoring the pain in her chest and almost overcoming the two grenadiers.

Startled by the gunfire, the youngster serving as the driver of the escape vehicle already had the _Kübelwagen_'s engine on, and was nervously looking over his seat. Eren and the others simply stormed out of the trees and jumped to the back seat of the small car.

"Step on it!" Eren yelled at him.

There was not need to tell again. The driver grabbed the wheel and pressed the pedal to the metal, making the engine growl furiously as the car jerked forward before rolling away as fast as it could. Somewhere beyond the trees the Americans fired blindly, realizing they had lost the small scout team and unwilling to give chase without further support.

Meanwhile the small military car managed to put enough distance to allow the occupants to relax a little. The driver wasn't slowing down, though. Not until he reached the camp.

"That was intense." Surprisingly enough, Armin was the first occupant to speak.

Nervous as they were, they barely noticed the two grenadiers had dropped onto the seat while Ysabelle tried to squeeze on the space between them, her legs over Eren's lap and her torso over Armin's. It still took them a while to realize that position didn't seem proper.

"You're a good runner. You didn't disappoint me, that's for sure." Eren told Ysabelle, honestly impressed.

"Thanks." Armin replied, oblivious to whom the compliment was meant for. It promptly earned him confused looks from both Eren and Ysabelle.

The driver, on the other hand, had other worries. As they drove deeper into the woods, a drizzle started to pour down from the sky. Although the tree tops blocked most of the rain, some still found its way to the occupants of the open-cab car, soaking whatever parts of their clothes were still dry.

"Ah, great!" The driver complained.

"Well," Armin sighed, "at least this means we won't have to worry with the enemy aircraft for a good while…"


	2. In the Army Now

"_Crime butchers innocence to secure a throne, and innocence struggles with all its might against the attempts of crime_."

Maximilien Robespierre

* * *

II

IN THE ARMY NOW

It only took a few minutes for the _Kübelwagen _to get to the forward camp where the 77th _Panzergrenadiers_ were making the last preparations for the day's operation. The car stopped near a couple of Hanomag half-tracks equipped with 75mm guns on their backs. Ysabelle jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, quickly followed by the grenadiers, and searched for the command staff.

She found them gathered under a canvas stretched between two trees. Between them they had a small table and a map of the region, fingers pointing at different locations as the group kept talking the final details for the operation.

"We'll flank them from the south," Colonel Messner was explaining Maria and Anja, "and pound them until the enemy starts to converge on your position."

"I still don't like it. We'll be exposed there." Maria was extremely serious, thinking furiously as she glanced at the map. Her expression was close, but not quite equal, to the one she'd assumed back in the night they'd faced the British paratroopers.

"It's rather too late to quit, _Fräulein_." Master Sergeant Aschenbrenner replied. He was a tall and muscled man, with a thick blonde moustache, and Ysabelle was actually terrified of him, especially due to how fearsome he looked in the black SS uniform."I'll lead the charge if that makes you more comfortable."

"That's not it." Maria's voice was completely leveled, as if she didn't even realized the tone of scorn in the big man's voice. Her very next words confirmed that she was completely engaged in her tactical thinking, oblivious to such minutiae. "And the B1 cannot keep up with the other tanks. You should stay behind, in this farm over here, to support our retreat."

She was speaking rather mechanically, oblivious to how her words sounded to the others and to what her position in that meeting actually was. For a moment Ysabelle felt proud of how brave she was, but Messner seemed to have seen something else in her attitude. He placed a hand over her shoulder.

"You won't be there for long." He promised Maria. "The SS independent squadron shall come from north shortly after. Meanwhile I'll coordinate the artillery to guarantee you'll always have an escape route."

The girl nodded before his words. "That sounds good."

Then Anja patted her in the back.

"Stiff up, _Führerin_!" She said energetically. "It's us we're talking about! With some guts and smart improvisation we can do anything!"

Only then did they notice Ysabelle and her two companions as they approached them. Colonel Messner was the first to turn at the trio waiting outside of the canvas, soaking under the rain.

"What the hell happened to you?"

The two young grenadiers saluted the officer, before Eren replied.

"_Fräulein _Ackerman over here insisted in joining the scouting of the enemy front."

Messner narrowed his eyes as he evaluated the girl top to bottom. To him those girls were proving to be both resourceful and problematic. If they didn't knew how to stay away from trouble how could he expect them to survive to the end of the day?

"So what did you find?"

Eren opened his mouth to reply, but Ysabelle was quicker than him.

"We've found several of the new Shermans with the 76mm guns, _Oberst_, sir!" She replied, trying to keep her voice leveled. It wasn't easy with the soaked clothes sticking to her skin and making her shoulders tremble with the cold.

"Several?" The colonel was surprised that she decided to make the report by herself. The question was, once again, made to Corporal Jäger. Once again, Ysabelle beat him to the punch.

"Yes. There were also several of the older models and also armored cars. They outgun us in every regard." She made a short stop to let the information sink in. Then Messner inhaled to say something, and she resumed talking. "There were also some units standing on the hills, over-watching the landscape, forming an arc up to the south. They will see us coming in."

This time Messner snorted. Although he was a rather comprehensive officer, he still didn't like when people trampled him like that. Meanwhile Maria realized her friend was unprotected under the rain, as at least the two soldiers had their helmets on, and pulled her by the wrist, so she could find some cover in the little space left under the canvas.

"Is that normal procedure?" Maria then asked the colonel.

"I beg your pardon?" Messner turned towards her.

"The tanks standing on the hilltops?"

"Sometimes. The commanders like to have a good view of the field. Of course they will blast everything they see if it comes too close."

Maria assumed her thinking posture again, hand on her chin, eyes lost in infinity. Beside her, Anja caught the glitter in her eye.

"Had an idea?" She asked, smirking viciously.

"Maybe…" Maria smiled and turned at Messner. "Sir, if you are willing to allow it, I think we could do a slight modification to the plan of action. It might improve our chances."

Now Messner was astonished with the insolence of those girls. Change a battle plan at the last minute was way beyond normal German doctrine. Then again, he wasn't a normal commander and, furthermore, they were living desperate times.

"I'm all ears, _Fräulein_ Nitzschmann." But before Maria could talk he turned at the scout team again. "And you get under some shelter and try to get at least some dry underwear. We're moving out in couple minutes." He allowed a moment for his words to sink in and then added, "Good work."

Maria was also smiling, looking directly at Ysabelle. "Good work." She told her. "I'm proud."

"Yeah!" Anja pointed with her thumb to the other side of the camp. "Now go see if Tammeke or someone else can get you some dry clothes. We don't want you all soaked up inside that tank, do we?" And then she placed an arm over Maria's shoulders. "And now you tell us what this plan of yours is."

It felt a little disappointing to be sidelined like that right after being praised, but Ysabelle came to the conclusion that it was just how things were. Looking around to search for the grenadiers, she realized they had already ran away to join their comrades around the nearby Hanomags. The rain had calmed down a little, but it still soaked.

And, in all truth, it was a little hard to have the commanders of the unit that close while they ignored her. Especially Maria, who was now involved in some tactical discussion with Messner, Aschenbrenner, and one of the infantry officers. Ysabelle never had many friends in her life, being seen as weird by many of the people she knew, and even admitted it to herself from time to time. Her passion for armored vehicles and guns also spooked most of her potential friends, and even in the BDM she'd only managed to make a handful of close relationships, albeit not necessarily friendships. That meant she'd become really attached to the few meaningful relationships in her life.

And Maria was even more special to her. Her deep knowledge about tanks, that even went to areas she'd never truly indulged in, like tactics and combined arms warfare, and the fact that she was the sister of a well-known _panzer_ ace, all of it made her a true hero to her eyes. She believed in her and would follow her anywhere.

Even so, she realized she didn't have anything left to do there, so she simply turned away and walked to the _Panzer_ IV, parked between two large trees, the _Char_ B1 Bis standing nearby. She quickly found herself running as the rain started to thicken once again.

The commander's hatch of the medium tank was unlocked, and she opened it to squeeze inside before closing it again. She dropped over the commander's seat, right between Hanna and Simone, who were chatting while they waited for the order to move. The later was especially impressed when she noticed the sorry state of Ysabelle's clothes.

"What happened to you?"

"Long story."

"You disappeared for a while." Hanna told Ysabelle. "You had us worried."

Defeated and finding herself without stamina to hide her escapade, Ysabelle decided to simply tell the truth.

"I went on a scout mission to the American lines."

"You did what?" Simone was shocked. "That's dangerous!"

On the other side of the fighting chamber, Hanna raised an index finger.

"In fact, we're about to drive this metal box into a probable kill zone. So… danger gets somewhat relative at this point."

"Maybe, but see how soaked she is!"

"Have you managed to find something we can use?" Hanna asked Ysabelle, after chuckling softly at Simone's shriek.

"Yes." In spite of the cold that made her shiver, Ysabelle started to once again feel the pride from before. "_Führerin_ Nitzschmann is right now conceiving a plan to make us break through the enemy lines!"

The girls weren't completely naïve, of course. They knew all odds would be against them once the attack started. They also knew that the main goal for the 77th _Panzergrenadiers_ was to entertain the enemy long enough for the true attack, made by a heavy SS _Panzer_ squadron, to storm through the north and make the real damage. Even so they had faith in their commander, and hope she was a true tactical genius in the making. They had to, it was better than simply accepting that they had no chances of succeeding whatsoever.

"She will." Hanna's voice was little more than a whisper, like a prayer to some anonymous god who defended the desperate. "I believe in Nitzschmann too."

"Well, that's good to know!" Again on the offensive to solve the most immediate problem, Simone leaned over Ysabelle. "But we still need to find you something dry to wear, or you'll get a cold. I think there's an extra uniform somewhere in the tool box. Wait here."

She opened the loader's hatch and exited the tank. Outside the day seemed to be getting darker, and not the other way around, as the black clouds gathered tightly. Fortunately for Simone, the rain had stopped for a couple of minutes.

"When we were back at the farm or the groupings before that," the girls still in the fighting compartment turned to Meike, who had suddenly entered the conversation. She was facing to center of the tank, embracing her seat, her chin on the top of it, "all that could happen if we failed in our tasks was for us to make a bad figure of ourselves, maybe being expelled. Now things are a little different, isn't it?"

Meike seemed depressed. She was one of those persons who required a good amount of sleep every night, something that had been hard to get lately. Although that explained the vague eye circles now ornamenting her pretty face, it wasn't the real reason for her mood.

"That's it." Hanna told her, sounding almost like a teacher who saw her favorite student realizing what she'd been telling her all along.

"At least it's simple."

"Having second thoughts in deciding to come with us?"

The drowsy girl then glanced directly to her friends, finally letting her thoughts go and focusing on the immediate reality.

"Don't even mention it." She sighed and shrugged, and then looked at Ysabelle. "You look terrible."

"It's a long story."

Right after that, Simone dropped back into the loader's post, holding an old and ragged uniform.

"It was the only one I could find." She told Ysabelle. "Let's see if you can put it."

Ysabelle raised her hands to start taking of the shirt, and inadvertently touched the rectangular shape in her breast pocket. She immediately brought it out, her eyes stumbling upon the grey tinfoil wrapping the chocolate bar. Around her the other girls yelped in surprise. Once the rationing began, as everything in Germany started to fall apart, such delicacies got rarer and rarer, to the point that everyone inside that tank hadn't even seen a chocolate in months.

Looking around her, Ysabelle noticed her friends were now leaning forward, their eyes locked onto the bar in her hands.

"How did you get that?" Simone asked, completely baffled.

"I got it from the Americans." Ysabelle replied simply.

"What?"

Ysabelle allowed herself a moment to smile warmly as she recalled that incursion into the enemy lines. And then she started to unwrap the chocolate, with a tearing sound that flooded the fighting compartment.


	3. The Boy Who Admired a Girl

"_Deep down, the young are lonelier than the old._"

Anne Frank

* * *

III

THE BOY WHO ADMIRED A GIRL

He deeply admired her. He'd always had.

Even to this day he could perfectly remember the time he'd first seen her, when his parents went with him to meet their new employer, the Earl of Orange, dweller of the Saint Gloriana Manor, in the outskirts of the Welsh town of Neath. That was when David first locked his eyes onto hers. While their respective parents discussed work the two children glared angrily at each other, unaware that in fact they were both too shy to start a conversation.

Although young, David also had to work on the fields around Saint Gloriana, trying to make some extra pence to help his parents in that period of extreme inflation and unemployment. The events that transpired in the other side of the Atlantic and brought famine, misery, and extremist ideologies to the world were something he couldn't really comprehended. But he suffered its effects nonetheless, as he bruised his hands and feet plowing the fields or collecting the tea leaves that still represented so much of the House of Orange's business and culture.

It had been a surprise for David and his family to find out that since the first Earl, back in the Age of Sail, had made a fortune importing tea from all over the world, the family, and even the servants, had developed the tradition of naming the girls accordingly to types of tea. That young lady that had caught the boy's attention was called Darjeeling, and many times had David noticed her piercing blue eyes looking down at him from the balconies of the manor, her golden hair waving at the wind.

He didn't like it one bit. David never liked to be looked upon, and the implied haughtiness of the whole noble family who employed him, his parents, and good part of the people living in the surroundings, was something he had great difficulty dealing with.

Later that year David got in his first fight with his best friend, Alvin. The boys had been working all day and had a disagreement. David couldn't remember why anymore, but it became pretty vicious, and it took one of the house servants to separate them.

By then they had already gathered a hefty crowd with their ruckus. Two of the girls who were watching the fray moved in to tend to the two boys' wounds. David actually knew the girl who went to help him. The cute redhead was the daughter of one of the servants and was called Pekoe. Although at the time he was too furious to acknowledge it, the fact that he she went directly for him, and started cleaning the blood in the corner of his mouth with a wet towel, left a warm impression in his heart, which would only grow with time.

Meanwhile the older daughter of the Earl of Orange also joined the crowd and looked at the sad spectacle with surprise and discontentment. Her glance quickly locked onto David.

"What is this?" Darjeeling spoke in a soft voice, but her disappointment was patent, "I did expect more from you."

Now, the boy couldn't actually understand what her point was exactly, but he didn't liked how smug the expression sounded to his ears. He shook Pekoe away and opened his arms, oblivious to the pain in his face.

"And what's that supposed to mean? You're just a kid like us!"

His words actually managed to hurt her. The beautiful blonde girl stood there for a moment, glaring at him, while he returned the look.

"Come with me." She said, immediately turning back and starting to walk out of the barn. All the kids stood there confused for a moment, before David got up and followed the girl, leaving all the others dumbfounded with what had just happened.

The boy was quick in catching up to her. Darjeeling didn't even try to look at him, instead navigating her way into the manor, chin raised and hands behind her back.

"What is this all about?" David queried.

"You'll see. Just guarantee you don't splatter blood all over the carpet, will you?"

David took a hand to his face, checking if he wasn't dripping blood, and finding there were no leaks of notice. In silence he followed the girl to the first floor, up the main staircase, surrounded by paintings and items from distant lands, relics from the old merchant tradition of the House of Orange.

Finally the girl led the boy to a rather small cabinet, accessed by a lavishly furnished corridor. Surprisingly enough, the cabinet itself presented a rather Spartan furniture, although of top quality: a secretary, several bookshelves, a carpet, three chairs, and some jugs with flowers near the window in the farthest wall. Darjeeling sat in one of the chairs, which was turned at David. The boy was now standing in the middle of the room, his look ever so inquisitive.

"Do you happen know the story of the scorpion and the toad?" She asked without preambles.

Again, David felt infuriated with what he assumed to be arrogance. Even so he decided to resign himself to the situation.

"I fear I do not."

"Oh, what a shame." She joined her hands in front of her face, seeming like if she was praying. Her eyes, though, were solely focused on the boy in front of her. "So, one day, a scorpion wanted to cross a stream, but he knew he couldn't swim. He went up and down the shoreline to find a solution to his predicament, be he couldn't find a single thing, not a piece of wood, not a water lily, nothing. Then he found the toad, who was taking a sunbath in the shore."

Darjeeling made a pause at that point, for a moment closing her eyes, a slight grin appearing on her face as David observed her, completely baffled by her words. Then the girl opened her eyes, this time focusing in infinity.

"The scorpion asked the toad if he could ferry him to the other side of the stream because he needed it so much but couldn't swim himself. After some deliberation the toad said that although he was inclined to help, he was afraid that the scorpion would sting him in the back during the crossing. 'If you sting me', he said, 'we will both die'. The scorpion promised he would never do such a thing, because it was so important for him to go to the other side. The toad then decided to help him, and told the scorpion to jump to his back."

"And so the toad swam across the stream. But, when they were halfway through, the scorpion suddenly stung the toad in the back. 'Why did you do that?', the toad asked, 'Now we both will die.' Conformed, the scorpion replied, 'I'm so sorry, my friend, but it's my nature.' And they drowned."

Having finally finished her story, Darjeeling returned her attention to the boy there with her. By this point the young David had already cocked his head, unable to form any meaningful thought about what she'd just said. He stood there like that for a couple seconds, his mouth wide open as he tried to find the words to express himself.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

The girl shrugged. "My mother told me that all people have their own single nature, and that many struggle to become what their heart really tells them to. You see, life is such a precious thing. It can go away in an instant." Darjeeling raised an index finger. "And I think you can do something better than simply working in the lands and beating up your friends."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

David gave a step forward, Darjeeling remaining as impassive as he'd expected.

"Then let me tell you this: I might be just a poor kid now, but I will make something else with my life, see? Be part of something important."

"I know."

Silence fell as mantle over the room. But it wasn't uncomfortable, quite the contrary. David enjoyed the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts for an instant. He was young, and still couldn't comprehend many things about the world, but facing that girl, who certainly had the same issues as he did, regardless of her collection of books and evident intelligence, made him think far into the future, into a time where he would be double his current age and beyond.

"You should educate yourself," Darjeeling said, finally breaking the silence, her voice little more than a whisper as she fought with her own understanding of the ideas taught her by her mother, "so you could use the qualities you have and fulfill those dreams of yours. After all, one should learn how to live his life to the fullest."

"Lady…" Again, David found himself unable to find any proper reply. And even more when she looked away, her expression almost sheepish for a change.

"Furthermore… It kind of gets lonely when I'm here reading all by myself. Would you," she looked at him once again, "would you come by to read with me? When you have the time, that is?"

David's jaw had dropped far too many times by this point for him to care to count. It did made recovery swifter, though.

"Huh… It wouldn't hurt, I guess."

She got up and got closer to him, her face now beaming.

"Brilliant!" Darjeeling extended a hand. "Friends?"

Yes, David was young, and yes, he was unaware of many of the realities of the world. But Darjeeling was right about him in one regard. He was smart, really smart. In spite of the girl's almost constant smirk and her confident posture, she did feel alone. His mind went through some hints he'd seen during the year, the way her sister seemed more disconnected from reality than her, the sad look of her mother and how her conversations with Darjeeling seemed to extend that sadness to the girl, the distancing of her father, always working in the family's business and political connections.

She needed a friend, that's why she tried to approach the servant's kids, and why she wanted to talk to him once she realized they had some similarities, only needing a good excuse to do so. And what could he lose with it? Having the company of a pretty girl, and be the friend she so desperately needed? And even educating himself in the process, maybe finding what he could do to fulfill his own ego?

No, there was nothing to lose there. So he shook her hand, a large smirk spreading across his face.

"Friends!"

Those were happy memories, from another time, distant in the misty past. As he approached the command tent in that April 15, 1945, Captain David Blake allowed them to fade away, back to the special place in his heart where they rested most of the time, until he needed them to remember that he was more than just a soldier.

For now, he had to return to the present, to the job at hand. In the base around him the American troops were already moving back and forth, stirred by whatever happened earlier than morning. The day hadn't yet started and something was already up. Unconsciously, David allowed a slight grin to twist his lips while he entered the command tent.

His mind was already working in guessing what the Jerry could be up to.


	4. There Will be Huns

"_War is not an adventure. It is a disease. It is like typhus_."

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

* * *

IV

THERE WILL BE HUNS

David gave a last look at the sky before he entered the command tent. It was heavy with low clouds, rain falling irregularly all over the landscape. Air support would be out of the question until it started to clear, maybe later in the morning accordingly to the weather forecast. With the Allies deprived of their greatest asset, it was the perfect opportunity for the Germans to try and do something concerning the unyielding advance of the American troops around Leipzig.

Even in defeat the Jerry was as obstinate as ever, David thought, guaranteeing the Allies would have to fight for every centimeter of land.

"Ah, Captain Blake!" Colonel Jeremy Kay greeted David as he entered. "It's good to see you."

The British officer looked at the commander of the US Army's 117th Armored Regiment, nicknamed "Saunders". The man was born in Kuna, in the state of Idaho, and had a tall and athletic build, sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He actually had the laid back and hands-down attitude David had always associated with the Yanks, although reality had come to prove him that people were as different as they came, independently of their country of origin.

For some reason Kay simply fitted rather well in the said stereotype. He was also a proud father of a young lady, and David even had the opportunity to see a picture of her once, surprised that she had the same eyes and hair of her father, but a feminine grace that was surely her mother's. It was evident that the colonel missed his family dearly, but, like everyone there, he was committed and eager to see the European campaign through to the end. To defeat Fascism and, who knows, open the path for something good to come out from all of that madness.

"I am so very sorry for not coming by earlier, colonel," David replied, "but I was redacting my reports when I noticed the commotion."

The colonel nodded at him. One of his aides used the moment to come up to him and deliver a report.

"One of the patrols stumbled upon some Kraut scouts." Kay said to David while he read the paper. "We're still trying to see if it was some kind of preparation for a counter-attack, or intelligence gathering for later."

"I would say the Jerry will try something today. They won't have another chance like this anytime soon." David shrugged. "This weather makes you think if God isn't a bloody Jerry Himself."

"Who knows?" The colonel said somewhat dismissively as he joined two of his tactical officers over the map in the center of the room. "And while you're around, feel free to give any of your famed tactical advices. They've helped before."

"Certainly, sir." David pointed with the mug in his hand to the stove near the entrance. "May I?"

The Americans turned at him, Kay quickly realizing his intent.

"Knock yourself out." He told him before returning is attention to the map.

Very calmly, David went to the stove. He filled the mug with some water from his canteen and started heating it.

"So, good colonel, any idea when will the main assault commence?" David asked while he waited for the water to heat.

There was a wait of a minute or so, while Kay discussed with his officers. But he hadn't ignored the British liaison. Once his aides stopped talking to think their situation through, Kay turned to David.

"Once we have encircled the city. Meanwhile, we hold this flank."

And so it was. The main Allied advance in Central Germany was focused on two main targets: Leipzig to the south, and Dessau, further north. That meant that there was a respectable gap in the space between both advances, through which the enemy could try to move and do something to thwart the Americans. Of course, they were desperately outnumbered in that fight, but that wouldn't stop them from trying.

Guessing the water was hot enough already, David switched the stove off. Then he took a small tea bag from his breast pocket and started dipping it in the mug.

"Do you always walk around with one of those?" One of the colonel's tactical officers asked David.

"You know, laddie," he replied, a smirk on his face, "black tea works better for me than coffee."

The young American lieutenant chuckled and glanced again at the map. One of his colleagues, a young man who David didn't remember having seen before, looked at the British liaison with a skeptic gaze.

"So, this is the guy they say conquered Caen?" he asked the officer who'd spoken before.

"And Carpiquet," the other officer replied, "and even helped the Scottish Engineers in Hill 112 when they got surrounded." He finally raised his eyes to meet his younger comrade's. "Drove there in a Jeep, and reached the Scots the same time the Krauts did." And then he turned towards David. "Isn't that so?"

David was now grinning openly. It always amused him when he listened to the other troops talking about his combats in the dreadful campaign to take Caen. He did other things after that, of course, everyone did, but the fact that an inexperienced lieutenant, like he was at the time, managed to successfully command so many important fights in such a short amount of time had left an impression.

He'd always tried not to let it go to his head, anyway. He'd seen how others failed when they started to believe in their own invincibility. Market Garden had been especially traumatic in that regard. Even so he had to admit that combat appealed to him in a very innate level. Of course, he knew better than allowing others to realize that.

"That's how the tale goes, yes." He replied to the American lieutenant's question. "I was just doing my job."

"We all are." Colonel Kay declared, putting an end to the small talk. The discussion regarding the disposition of troops and how they could expand the perimeter continued afterwards, although the skeptical young lieutenant kept measuring David for a while longer, unconvinced. The British officer wasn't overly worried with what others could think of him, as long as the higher-ups believed he could do his job, so he decided to concern himself with more immediate problems.

"Do you happen to have some sugar?" David asked when he realized he'd forgotten his own. The colonel told him to check the smaller table in the other side of the tent. Fortunately there were some small packs over there, and he took one to mix in his tea. The result was a pleasant, lukewarm, drink.

He didn't have much time to savor the tea, though. A series of loud detonations in the distance alerted everyone in the tent. David placed his mug over the table and followed the others to the outside. There was a pair of smoke columns rising in the distance, and the personnel in the command post was already rushing back and forth, getting ready for the impeding battle.

"And so it begins." David murmured, almost solemnly.

Beside him, Colonel Kay looked at the grey sky above.

"At least we still have our artillery…"

On the other hand, David was starting to hitch inside. Battle was at hand, and somewhere up ahead there were men about to face death. The wild instincts inside him were now demanding for him to go where he could do some good. He turned to the colonel.

"Sir?" David straightened, assuming parade position. Kay glanced at him, taking no time realizing what he was asking for with such a simple question. He'd seen that kind of attitude several times before, mostly coming from green men, too eager to have their first taste of combat. Rarely did it come from seasoned veterans. Such men could be of two types: those who were dangerous to their comrades, and those who were deadly to the enemy.

And he knew exactly of which kind David was.

"Go." He told him. "Just don't take any stupid risks."

David saluted and immediately walked away, searching for a transport. A jeep was parked not far from the command tent, its driver, a young black soldier, stood against the side of the vehicle, looking at the distant columns of smoke.

"Private," David called him to attention. The man took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and saluted, "what's your name?"

"Freeman, sir." The driver replied.

"Private Freeman, I need you and your vehicle."

David sat on the passenger's seat while Freeman got the driver's. He turned the engine on, making a pleasant purr come out from under the hood.

"Where to, sir?"

Without saying a word, David pointed to the distant pillars of smoke. Freeman let his jaw drop a little, his expression clearly saying 'not again!'

"Shall we?" David insisted.

"Yes, sir." The private replied, much less enthusiastic this time.

The jeep leaped forward, running through the hills, right into the thick of it. It took it just a couple minutes to get to the frontline. Interestingly enough, and to Freeman's relief, not much seemed to be happening.

Curious, but suddenly feeling very cautious, David told the driver the park the jeep several meters behind the pair of Sherman tanks standing on the top of the hill, overlooking the landscape. He walked to the space between both armored beasts, taking the time to check if the perimeter was mounted adequately around them. It did seem so. The American captain knew what he was doing.

"Ah, Captain Blake," he saluted when he saw the British liaison approaching his mount. The man was assuming the usual armor commander's pose, half of his body out of the command hatch, binoculars in his hands, "to what do we owe the honor?"

"The colonel believes the Jerry is up to something, Captain O'Neil." David replied, putting his hands in his pockets. "I came by to check on the frontline."

"The Jerry is always up to something. That's what he does."

David nodded before those words, again checking his surroundings.

"What happened thus far, captain?" He asked. The American officer didn't reply immediately, instead observing the horizon, a task that was next to impossible under the constant curtains of rain.

"They've pounded us with some light artillery and a couple infantry squads. Can't really place where the main thrust will take place..." He glanced down to David. "But we're spread well enough to react to anything they might throw at us."

"Assuming you see it coming…" David's muttering was barely audible, and O'Neil was certainly trying to grasp what he'd said when one of his men called for him.

"Sir! We have a tank coming from the northeast!" He was a young radio-operator with freckles in his pale face, carrying the heavy communications equipment on his back, and probably receiving the information from some other unit up to the north.

"Kraut?" O'Neil was once again peering at the distance with the binoculars, but yet another curtain of rain fell over the hillside, soaking everyone there and negating him any chance of confirming the sight.

"They don't know."

"How do they don't know?"

The young man hesitated, while he listened to the radio chatter, covering the headphone with his mouth to protect it from the rain. Meanwhile O'Neil went inside the tank for a moment, probably to say something to his crew, maybe ask the radio-operator of the vehicle to double-check the information. When he peeked through the hatch again, the radio-operator infantryman had some news for him.

"The guys up north say it's a Lee."

"A Lee?" Now both O'Neil and David were confused. "We haven't been using those in a while."

Meanwhile the rain started to clear, eventually stopping for a couple minutes. The American captain used the respite to check the surroundings. On the other hand, David started to feel even more uneasy. There was something familiar in there.

"Oh, I see it. Is it alone?" O'Neil lowered his binoculars and leaned to talk to the radio-operator standing beside the tank to tell him something. David didn't listened because at that moment his brain made the connection to the conversation he had with Alvin that night, the adrenaline rush rocketing through his body.

"O'Neil!" He yelled. "Destroy it!"

Too late.

In very next instant the Sherman was engulfed by a thundering fireball, and David was pushed into the air as though he were grabbed by a giant invisible hand. He had a moment of weightless confusion, and then, with a plunk, he felt the blissful embrace of oblivion.


	5. The American Lines

"_Courage is not the towering oak that see storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow_."

Alice Mackenzie Swaim

* * *

V

THE AMERICAN LINES

"You did it, Saskia! It was a clean hit!"

Augusta's high-pitched voice echoed inside the captured M3 Medium Tank. Up in the distance, the American Sherman was still spewing oily black smoke into the sky, as the detonation that'd hit it subsided and something in its engine compartment caught fire. In the driver's post, Constanze decided to waste no time and didn't even wait for the commander's order. She made the M3 roll forward and then turn left, in a direct dash to the nearest tree line.

"Let's get out of here!" She yelled, trying to get heard over the engine's howl and the other girl's excitement. Constanze could understand their enthusiasm, as in the previous fight they didn't managed to hit anything, even with the enemy basically at point-blank range. Managing to hit the broad side of the bulky M4 from that distance with the 75mm gun was surely a moment of inspiration from the tank's gunner, Saskia.

Of course that the driver was completely right in losing no time. As soon as she turned to the trees shells started falling all around the M3, making thundering volcanoes of dirt and mud. She couldn't see it either, but two of the American Shermans were also moving down the nearest hillside, hot on pursuit.

The sudden call to the reality of combat made the other girls go instantly silent, and Augusta assume the command posture she should have had all along.

"I knew it. We're dead." Aaron mumbled, holding to the back of the fighting chamber, a conformed look on his face.

An American shell fell too close for comfort, shaking the M3, but Constanze held tightly to the control levers, and soon the old tank disappeared among the trees. Rabbit Team was safe, at least for the immediate future. But the day had just begun.

* * *

One of the reasons why the Americans weren't more proficient in their pursuit to the captured M3 Medium Tank was the presence of two artillery teams equipped with 50mm Pak 38 guns in the edge of the forest. As soon as Rabbit Team hit the target they started pounding the American lines with as many rounds as they could slam into the guns' breaches.

The explosions erected towers of mud and pulverized grass over the hillsides, but it didn't stop a couple of the newer and bulkier M4 Shermans to roll down the slope in pursuit. The fire teams changed the angle of their guns and tried to get a clean hit on the tanks, but the distance and the occasional curtain of rain made aiming quite difficult.

It was then that the second reason why the pursuit didn't go longer came into play. One of the German gun teams noticed it when the observer lowered his binoculars and turned to his comrades.

"The tanks stopped." He told them.

The gunner, who was much more experienced, quickly came to the obvious conclusion.

"Where?"

"At the bottom of the hill. It's weird."

At that point the gunner's eyes widened in alarm. "Let's get out of here!"

Led by him, the other two troopers ran to the _Kettekrad_ standing nearby, the vehicle they had used to drag the gun to that position. The gunner gave almost no time for the others to sit in the back and hold to something, immediately turning on the engine and hurling the half-track motorcycle forward, dashing madly among the trees.

In their rush to escape the incoming peril, they'd left the gun behind. It was a good call, as the forest started exploding around them, tree trucks shattering into a thousand sharp splinters as the thunderous roar of artillery fire spread among the trees. Now the passengers were in panic as more and more shells fell, making centenary trees fall over with terrifying ease, leaving smoldering craters where their roots once were.

The gunner kept his cool, teeth clenched and hands holding firmly to the steering handle, while the world seemed to go to hell all around him. Then he noticed the shaking settling down, and the detonations getting farther and farther away, although his ears still rang like alarm sirens. He looked over his shoulder and saw what remained of the charred forest.

Behind him, the gun's loader, who was almost as experienced as he was, turned to the younger observer and showed an open hand and two fingers in the other one.

"Seven." He told him. "I've survived seven artillery barrages with this one."

The observer nodded at him.

"I just hope it was worth it." The gunner said. "After all, this plan hinges on that tank squadron."

"On the girls?" The observer asked, slightly anxious, which prompted the loader to reply.

"Let's see if they don't get them all killed."

* * *

The rain was getting more intense, but Ysabelle still managed to notice some of the bombardment of the forest, a few kilometers away from her position. It wasn't hard to recognize the loud explosions overlapping with the sound of the downpour and the rumbling of the engines. While the Anglerfish Team's loader glanced around the fighting compartment, nervous, Simone reported to Maria that Rabbit Team already did their part of the plan, hitting what was supposed to be the local American commander.

Ysabelle could only hope they had in fact hit the right tank. Maria's plan implied an initial probing attack to draw the Americans out, so the forward observer, a veteran officer from Messner's entourage, could inspect the line which would form and try to assess where the local commander should be. It was a risky trick, but Ysabelle hoped that even if Rabbit Team didn't manage to hit the right officer, their attack caused enough confusion to help the rest of the troops in what was about to follow.

With a final sigh, Maria opened the command hatch and looked outside, before returning inside and closing it again. The short peek was enough to get her hair and shirt completely soaked, so Ysabelle extended her a small towel.

"Thank you." Maria accepted the towel with a soft smile on her face, and proceeded to dry her hair as much as possible. "Tell the column to move ahead." She told Simone while she was at it.

With a loud bellow, the _Panzer_ IV rolled forward, digging trenches over the mud on its wake. The rest of the small strike team followed suit, in a cacophony of revving engines and whining tracks. Around them the woodland became sparser, rain falling heavily from the sky above.

"The weather is terrible… Seems someone likes us." Maria returned the towel to Ysabelle, who put it inside a small box in the bottom of the fighting compartment.

"It will make aiming more difficult." Hanna complied.

"Don't forget that works both ways," Ysabelle replied, "and our sights are better."

"We'll just need to remain focused." For a moment Maria almost let out exactly how nervous she was. Everyone knew she was as afraid of the incoming battle as the others, but Ysabelle realized that as a leader she had to remain as stoic as possible, to calm the nerves of her subordinates. But she was still a girl, and the fear she felt regarding her own death and that of her friends could only be held back by the support of those around her.

She also noticed Maria's hand trembling slightly. It wasn't the first time either, it did the same before they fought the British the other night, even if no-one else noticed it. So, Ysabelle held it, earning a surprised glance from Maria, who probably didn't even realized the nervous twitch. The girls traded a supportive smile.

"Well," Hanna started, apparently still thinking in the conversation they had a moment ago, "at least _Fräulein_ Ackerman looks fittingly military."

It was true. Looking down Ysabelle looked again at the khaki coveralls she was wearing. It was far too big for her, and she had to pull back her sleeves so they wouldn't get stuck in something. But it was the only thing Simone had got for her to wear, given the sorry state of her previous garments. Secretly, she was actually very happy with the coverall, as it made her feel like a true soldier.

On the other hand, her friends were still stuck with the clothes they had brought from Baderberg, their shirts now more beige than white, and their skirts covered in dirt. They were starting to stink, too, but it was all they had to wear. Inside the tank, though, it didn't matter all that much, not with the stench of burned oil and fuel, and the acidity of deep-seated sweat.

The tank jerked when it passed over a small stream in the outskirts of the rolling hills where the Americans had established their positions.

"I think we're almost there." Simone said.

Her call to attention made the steely look return to Maria's face, as she leaned to peek through the visors in the commander's cupola.

"Simone, tell everyone to assume battle positions." She ordered. "Let's do this."

_We will face the Americans now_, Ysabelle thought, recalling the impressive gathering of armored vehicles and troops she'd seen previously. And then she swallowed thickly. She was shivering now, feeling the full weight of being stuck inside a metal box without any means to look outside and assess the true danger of her position. She would have to run blindly along her friends, while facing one of the most powerful fighting forces ever assembled.

Although she'd never seen herself as a religious person, Ysabelle made a silent prayer, hoping someone, somewhere, would be listening.


	6. The Charge of the Panzergrenadiers

"_It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it_."

Robert E. Lee

* * *

VI

THE CHARGE OF THE PANZERGRENADIERS

The first sign of the decoy strike was a barrage of _Nebelwerfer_ artillery rockets. They were fired close to their maximum range, from one of the farms that dominated the landscape beyond the forest where the 77th _Panzergrenadiers_ were hidden during the night. The trails of white smoke would immediately give away the launchers, forcing the fire teams to change positions every time they fired. Still the rockets themselves, while highly imprecise, were impressively destructive.

They came from the sky making a loud shriek, and fell over the hilltops, exploding in huge fireballs. Some foxholes were hit, either by the detonations themselves, or by the mudslides that followed, but in general, the Americans suffered only marginal losses from the barrage. What it managed to do, though, was to further confuse and disorganize the defenders, already confounded by Rabbit Team's action.

When the armored column forced its way through the southern edge of the lines, a relatively soft spot, the American infantry shattered and the few men located there pulled back under machine gun fire. The German armored company followed suit, moving around the hill right in front of them, and then swarming into the open space beyond it.

By this point the Americans had recovered somewhat and were starting to move some units, mostly tanks and other armored vehicles, to face the Germans. The rain also subsided somewhat, but heavy curtains of rain still swiped the region.

Sitting inside a packed Hanomag half-track, Eren Jäger felt vulnerable. The cabin walls should be able to withstand small arms fire, but newer weapons, especially tank guns, could cut through as though it was made of cardboard. So he felt a slight hint of relief when the Hanomag came to a halt and Lieutenant Lauda ordered everyone to get out.

Eren jumped out of the back of the half-track and run a few meters to the right, descending over a knee as he found his place on the perimeter. Behind him a couple of his comrades deployed a mortar and another team mounted a MG42 in one of the foxholes the enemy had abandoned. The machinegun mounted in the transport vehicle was already firing, the tracers zipping next to the retreating American troops.

The young corporal could see them, trying to find refuge in another line of foxholes, a little up ahead. But that was war, and it was Eren's country on the line this time. He wouldn't stop until every single one of the invaders had been expelled. Breaking the siege to Leipzig would simply be the start.

He aimed his 98k rifle, feeling the wooden butt against his shoulder, the metallic sight scooping the backs of the retreating green coats. He fired, and one man opened his arms, dropping his rifle and falling over, like a ragdoll. Eren exhaled heavily. It wasn't the first time he killed, far from it, but he always felt a very real shiver every time he did it.

There was no time to lose, though, so he repressed those emotions and looked around. The two old Sdkfz. 222 armored cars the 77th had managed to keep in working order were rolling up ahead, firing at the Americans with their 20mm guns, the _Panzer_ 38(t) accompanying them in the harassment of the enemy infantry, as the planners came to the conclusion that the small tank couldn't do much more than that against the current enemy strength.

Mortar rounds were also exploding across the American lines, and some of the invaders were already pulling back once again. Lieutenant Lauda raised an arm and yelled to them men, urging them to move forward and press on. The _Panzergrenadiers_ did so, supported by their few armor assets, some of them falling under the enemy bullets. Eren got up, understanding perfectly what those orders were about. They couldn't allow for the enemy to gain a large gap between them and the Germans. That would only invite their artillery, so it was best for the _Panzergranadiers_ to get as close as possible to the enemy.

"Tanks!" Someone cried, and Eren looked northward to confirm.

It was raining again, so it was hard to see at first, but then the curtain faded slightly and uncovered the bulky American armor, too close for comfort. Eren's glance unconsciously moved to _Panzer_ IV standing slightly behind and to the left of the general German advance. Now they would see if those girls really were the real deal, or if what happened the other night was nothing more than a fluke, as so many thought.

_Maria..._ In spite of his better judgment, Eren's thoughts at the moment went to the commander of the venerable medium tank, and her unusual crew. Truth be told, the Colonel was betting everything they had on those girls, and if they failed, then all of them would feel the consequences.

* * *

"Enemies coming by, two o'clock." Maria's voice was oddly cold. To Ysabelle it was as though Maria stopped being there for a moment, replaced by some fearsome warrior spirit. It was unnerving, but still managed to keep her on her toes. "M10s."

"They have a weak glacis." Ysabelle declared, remembering her team mates of the explanations she'd gave them last night about the current American armor, or at least what she knew about it, as by now her knowledge was probably half a year late or so. Even so, she still knew the KwK 40 was more than enough to punch through even the frontal armor of the incoming tank destroyers.

The fresh armor piercing round made a metallic clatter as Ysabelle slammed it in the main gun's breech.

"I see them." Hanna confirmed.

The enemy was coming directly towards them, curving along the edge of the nearest slope. Fortunately for the girls, Maria had predicted that approach, so the turret was already facing the general direction of the enemy tanks. Hanna still tilted it slightly.

"Take the one to the left." Maria kept peering though the commander's viewports, holding the intercom's microphone in front of her mouth. "Open fire when ready."

In less than a second a huge blast echoed inside the tank as the round flew to meet the enemy vehicle. Stuck inside the _Panzer_ IV and without a viewport of her own, Ysabelle could only have faith in her comrades' abilities, while holding back her own fear of imminent death. In an effort to stay occupied, she grabbed another AP round and prepared to reload the gun.

Outside of the vehicle, the fight raged on. Hanna's shot struck home, slamming into the relatively weak frontal armor of the incoming M10. While the tank destroyers were similar to the ubiquitous Sherman, and were indeed developed from the same chassis, they were meant to stay outside normal combat ranges and use their superior agility to bring their powerful 76,2mm M7 guns to bear. That pair, though, was being rushed into the fight and unable to use their main trump card.

The glacis of the first M10 was bent inward, and the whole vehicle came to screeching halt as grey smoke started to pour out of it. The surviving crew lost no time in abandoning the tank destroyer. Its companion, on the other hand, was moving to the _Panzer_ IV's right. It either didn't see the German tank, or, most probably, had been issued some other target as the first M10 went for what should have been an easy kill. Instead, the second TD attacked one of the armed Hanomags rolling alongside the Baderberg Tank Squadron.

The M7 gun fired with a blinding flash, and the high-velocity AP round went through the soft side armor, coming out from the other side, bringing half of the cabin wall and most of the crew with it, a mess of splintered metal and broken bodies falling all over the muddy hillside. The driver, in absolute panic and half-deaf due to the hit, kept driving, the ruined half-track grumbling for a few more meters before rolling into a trench, the engine dying with a loud mechanical bellow.

Inside the now unmoving _Panzer_ IV, Maria kept issuing orders with an uneasy calm. Ysabelle couldn't know, and her honest admiration for the girl from Dresden didn't allowed her to think of such minutiae at the moment, but Maria had her mouth as dry as sandpaper and her heart was beating in such way that she could swear it was about to jump out of her chest. She was terrified, but still tried to keep a sober façade for the sake of her crew.

"Second TD at three o'clock."

"I see it." Hanna replied, not noticing she was speaking with the same emotionless tone of her friend.

"Fire."

POW!

This time the round stuck at an angle, penetrating the armor slightly above the first bogie in the right side. It went all the way through, before lodging in the turret ring's mechanism. That vehicle also filled with smoke, and the crew lost no time abandoning it.

A third American armored vehicle came rolling behind the neutralized TDs. This time it was an actual tank, a M4A1 Sherman. Unfortunately for Anglerfish Team, it was well out of their angle of fire. Maria ordered Hanna to compensate and Meike to resume march, so they could at least make themselves an harder target.

Fortunately for them, the German troops were, once again, the quickest to open fire. First it was Hippo Team, who stood slightly behind the main advance, using a small elevation in the terrain to minimize their exposure to the enemy guns. This time, though, Killian didn't have the lucky break from the last battle. His shot echoed over the battle and slammed against the slope of the hill behind the Sherman, to Erwin's frustration.

The second armed Hanomag was luckier. After the sad fate of its companion, it had stopped and turned to face the incoming armor. It was perfectly aligned for a frontal shot against the Sherman. The 75mm Pak 40 gun sticking over the driver's cabin had a very respectable penetrating power, and the first generation M4 medium tanks had a barely adequate frontal armor, and the slope wasn't enough to stop the AP round. The metal shattered with a loud ruckus, the tank turning to the left, for some reason. It kept rolling until it hit the side of the hill, too inclined for it to climb, coming to a halt as it dug its front into the mud.

While the shooting happened, Anglerfish Team had turned around, passing behind the proud armed Hanomag, and now moving to the knocked out American vehicles. It was hard to see now that the rain was started to intensify again, but there were some more tanks and armored cars gathering near the slopes of the nearby hills.

"They're going to encircle us." Maria gasped. It was evident. Even with the rain, the Americans had surely realized already how many armored assets the _Panzergrenadiers_ actually had.

"_Führerin_ Nitzschmann…" Even though she knew what the odds actually were, Ysabelle still believed in her commander, in her talent. So it was with shock that she saw Maria looking down to her from her command post with a hint of fear in her eyes.

"We can't keep up with this." She muttered.

Ysabelle felt her stomach sunk. Was Maria giving up, now that they had managed to score a few more kills? Hanna still had her eyes fixed on her scope, Meike was focused on her driving, and Simone was in the radio-operator's post, feeling too distant from the fighting chamber to say anything. It only remained her to maintain the commander's will to fight. She had to-

"We need to keep the Americans focused on us," Hanna said, her eyes never leaving the aiming sight, "or the whole plan will crumble."

Maria glanced away and covered her mouth with her hand.

"But if we stay here this will be over in ten minutes flat."

It was obvious, Ysabelle now realized, it was so obvious it hurt. The _Panzergrenadiers_ and the Baderberg girls never had a chance. They were doing that suicide charge simply because some madman in Berlin wanted the throw troops at the Americans in the vain hope that it would tire them down somehow. And now they were doomed to stay there and fight. And die.

"Maria…" Ysabelle yelped, barely registering that she had just used the commander's first name. Maria, on the other hand, was now completely embroiled in her thoughts, too distant to even realize it.

"What to do?" She mumbled, while the gears turned in her head. Unbeknownst to even the always faithful Ysabelle, she wasn't out of plans just yet.


	7. Bait and Switch

"_All wars are fought dirty, both figuratively and literally_."

Anonymous

* * *

VII

BAIT AND SWITCH

The _Panzer_ 38(t), supported by the two armored cars, was again on the offensive.

They had stopped while the situation with the American tanks was resolved, not due to any apprehension regarding that skirmish, Anja had the same faith in Maria as her crewmates, but mostly because the Americans were putting a very stiff resistance.

As was usually the case with many desperate plans, this one had been made with several hopes in mind. One of them was that the flanks of the advance towards Leipzig were formed by relatively green troops brought directly from the booths camps of North America, with the veterans being used in the main offensive against the city proper. Unfortunately for the _Panzergrenadiers_, there were few to no green American troops in the theater anymore, so the men they were facing knew quite well what they were doing.

But that didn't mean the plan was a bust. The Germans still had the rain and the element of surprise on their side, as well as large numbers of infantry, spread across the field to lessen their vulnerability to the enemy fire. Furthermore, the threat of the American armor had been eliminated for the immediate future.

So, the attack moved onward, in the faint hope of causing enough damage to draw in all the American troops they could. Anja could only hope it would be worth it. The few hours she'd managed to sleep had been mercifully blank, just a moment of darkness before she woke up to the cruel reality she'd gotten herself into. Her waking moments, though, were equal parts of questioning what she was actually doing and remembering the trembling body of Noemi in her arms, her gurgling as she tried and failed to say something, and the quietness of her last breath.

When that happened she stopped thinking for a while, and tried to find something to do. But then everything started happening so quickly. She could barely remember the point at which she ended up inside a small light tank surrounded by exploding mortar shells, zipping bullets that ricocheted against the armor, and young men being thrown into the ground in a mess of pouring blood and agonizing screams.

It was a mess. She tried to liberate those fleeting emotions by firing the machine gun at the Americans hiding in their foxholes, forcing them to abandon them and their dead to retreat to the next defensive line. Above her, in the turret, Monica fired alternately with the main gun and the machine gun, making no effort to spare ammo. To her right, Ursel drove into the general direction Anja had given her, but the fact remained that there was little coordination.

That would be their undoing.

While they moved forward, Anja caught something in the com. channel. Simone, speaking in Maria's place, was asking Captain Fokker to pull out and go directly to phase two, the luring stage of the plan.

"Negative," Fokker had an almost disdainful tone in his voice, probably thinking the girl was being a coward and just wanted to run away, "proceed with the original plan."

"I'm sorry for insisting," Simone replied, "but _Führerin_ Nitzschmann fears we might get encircled if we stay here for much longer."

She wasn't wrong. There were already reports about a stagnation in the left flank, where Second Company was now pinned down under the fire from the American defenders. Anja hoped to see something regarding that problem when she glanced through her visor. What she saw was the nearest line of foxholes, and a couple of men kneeling in the tank's path, one them holding a large metal tube in his shoulder, while the other finished getting something ready in the back of the strange-looking artifact.

Anja's mind made the connection a heartbeat later. Without even thinking the words, she yelled at Ursel.

"Turn left!" The poor girl didn't understand what her point was but was also too scared to think for herself. So she turned. And the American bazooka opened fire.

The rocket hit the small Czech tank directly in the right drive sprocket, the explosion making it jump out of the socket amid a shower of shattered track links and twisted pieces of the mudguard. The engine coughed in agony and came to a halt as the whole vehicle wobbled forward and dug the right wheels into the mud.

Anja coughed, and glanced around. Something inside the tank was starting to pour smoke.

"Is everyone all right?"

"I think I am…" Ursel was the first to respond, her voice barely audible. Monica replied with a burst of machinegun fire, moving the MG37 around its ball mounting, for now ignoring the main gun completely.

"Go away!" She screamed, her voice cracking as she neared panic. That was as good as a cue as Anja needed. She started opening her hatch.

"All right, girls, abandon vehicle!"

The armored cars had moved ahead, halting a few meters from the wrecked tank, spewing autocannon and machine gun fire over the nearby American positions. Some of closest _Panzergrenadiers_ had already formed a perimeter around the vehicle, too. Anja and Ursel were outside in just a few seconds, but Monica kept firing, unwavering even when she dug a trench near the front wheels of one of the supporting armored cars.

Realizing the girl was in shock, Anja climbed to the back of the tank and leaned over the closed commander's hatch. She yelled to the girl still inside, trying to get heard over the sound of the MG37. Around them the battle went on, machinegun fire raging between the hills and trees, mortar shells exploding all around, while the German infantry attempted to use any cover they could find, and the supporting fire of their half-tracks, to overrun the American positions. Anja could hear Ursel yelping as a trooper pulled her to a nearby Hanomag. But she couldn't leave Monica, nor could she really repudiate the young man taking Ursel to relative security.

"What are you doing?" One of the _Panzergrenadiers_ safeguarding the _Panzer_ yelled. "We're sitting ducks out here!"

Distracted from her immediate objective, Anja glared at the young man, finding herself looking at the grey eyes of Eren Jäger. What was he doing there, of all people? Was he tasked with escorting the girls or something?

"I won't leave her." She told him.

"Then get her out of there!" He replied, evidently unwilling to try to enter the frontal hatches and face that hysterical turret-mounted machinegun as much as any of his comrades. When the said weapon went silent right after he'd said those words, Eren became as surprised as Anja.

The turret hatch made a metallic 'clang', and opened to reveal Monica, who had her face covered with tears.

"I'm out of ammo…" She whispered, sobbing as the adrenaline started to abandon her system, leaving behind only the empty darkness of fear. With a sigh of relief, Anja took a hand to her friends' face.

"It's all right. We have to go now."

Anja held Monica by the shoulders and helped her getting out of the tank. Then they jumped to the ground, with Eren and some of his comrades offering their help. Occupied as they were with that, none of them could notice how the southern flank of the attack was now coming under heavy fire from a renewed American counter-attack. Young men tried their very best to stand their ground, but the mortar fire became too intense to withstand, and the machinegun emplacements made impossible to press on. The only choice was to pull back some hundred meters, and try to find a way around.

But that wouldn't happen. Suddenly the whole company started to ran away from the front, several troopers falling flat on her faces when they go hit. And then one of the armored cars exploded, hurling twisted metal all around and a huge fireball up into the clouded sky.

Having almost reached the nearby Hanomag, Anja, Monica and Eren turned back right in time to see the pair of Shermans coming from behind the valley between two nearby hills, one sporting the stubby barrel of a 105mm howitzer, the other the long and slender muzzle of a 76mm anti-tank gun. It was enough to make adrenaline rush through everyone's veins all over again. The whole group rushed to the half-track while the newly-arrived Shermans fired once again.

The howitzer opened a crater in the middle of a group of troopers, making bodies fly around. The bulky M4A3A8, on its turn, attempted to hit the second armored car, but the nimble vehicle managed to maneuver around quickly enough to make it miss. Around the battlefield the German troops started deploying smoke grenades do conceal their escape. They wouldn't stand for long with that rain, but should be enough to protect them from those murderous guns.

Meanwhile Monica and some _Panzergrenadiers_ rushed into the cabin of the Hanomag, Anja and Eren staying for last. The later could applaud the girl's leadership, but damn her if Anja thought he would allow her to be the last one aboard.

"Go!" He yelled at her, while they started running to keep pace with the half-track, the frightened driver already stepping on the pedal to escape the advancing tanks. In the back of the cabin two troopers were extending their arms to catch the stragglers.

"Swallow your pride and jump!" Anja replied, before leaping to the back of the vehicle, holding to one of the soldiers. Eren was quick enough to follow her example, barely on time as the Hanomag was now starting to accelerate out of the hills as fast as it could.

"I guess… _Führerin_ Nitzschmann was right." After catching her breath Anja realized she was holding to the soldier who caught her a little too tightly. The young man, little older than she was, was comprehensibly embarrassed, so she leaned back and held to the top of the cabin, looking back at the battlefield.

The black cover smoke was now hiding most of the area, fortunately, but she could still see the tiny and lonely _Panzer_ 38(t) they'd left behind. She felt a void in her stomach as the tank got smaller and smaller, and eventually disappeared behind a hill when the Hanomag turned around it. It felt like abandoning a beloved comrade . But at least her crew was safe.

* * *

On the northern flank of the German attack an American lieutenant called Michael Mignogna could see the remaining enemy armor pulling back into the woodland from where they'd spearheaded their attack. They were badly beaten now, and Lieutenant Mignogna had heard reports about them even leaving tanks behind. He thought it suited them well, as Mignogna's company already lost three armored vehicles that morning, as well as few good men.

But still, it made his blood boil to see the goddamned Krauts escaping like that. For the whole advance through Germany he'd seen the enemy making ambushes and localized strikes all across the American flank, killing the men under his command one by one. Mignogna had only arrived at the theater in January and actually thought things would be easy now that the enemy was in full retreat.

But that fantasy hadn't come to pass. The Germans were dastardly guaranteeing the Allies would pay dearly for each centimeter of ground they gained. And now there they were, doing it all over again. But, on the other hand, Mignogna knew he could still intercept them and demolish their remaining armor. Although he was in no position to open fire immediately, he could still move his men around the woodland and offer the Jerry some of his own medicine. He'd seen such daring moves work in the past, and now felt it was his time to avenge his comrades.

Unfortunately for him, the company's commander was still unreachable, and Mignogna was starting to suspect the worst. Be he felt he was about to lose an opportunity there if he simply stood idle.

"We can take them." He told the first-sergeant standing beside his Sherman.

"Sir?" The slightly older man asked, unsure about what he'd just said.

"We can intercept those bastards, sergeant." He pointed at the distance. "If we follow the trail to the left we can meet them in a village up ahead. Finish them before they get the chance to do this crap ever again."

Then Mignogna sighed and looked up the clouded sky, trying to see any sign that the weather would clear soon. There was none to be found, making him grimace involuntarily.

"Rally the men," he told the sergeant, "I'll inform the major."


	8. Thug of War

"_War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over_."

William Tecumseh Sherman

* * *

VIII

THUG OF WAR

Colonel Messner had established his command post in small house a few kilometers away from the American lines. The area surrounding it was composed of farmlands, with high fences, small woods and clusters of tiny houses and barns spread all around. To the Americans it looked a little too much like Normandy for comfort, and they were purposely staying away from it. At least for now that the occupation of Leipzig was their main objective in the region.

The building itself was as inconspicuous enough to not draw too much attention to the casual observer, and had been abandoned for some time now, the owners having probably escaped when the invaders started to get too close. Probably a wise choice, taking into account what was about to happen.

His command staff was surrounding him in the living room, the furniture they'd found there now covered in military equipment, radios, maps, weapons, and so on. They had a multi-staged plan aimed at keeping the Americans occupied, and even drawing them out of their defensive lines, hopefully making life easier for the SS independent _Panzer_ squadron, maybe even managing some sort of breakthrough. At least something that would eventually help in allowing for better terms of surrendering. Every bit counted, as they said.

Messner was a pragmatic man, and even fatalistic if given the chance. He'd also seen too much to simply give up now, although the possibility of surrendering did cross his mind more than once. It was obvious that the enemy was crushing Germany, there wasn't even a hint of doubt about it. The war was lost, it had been so for several years already. But he was an officer, and a proud one at that. He could never live with himself if he didn't do everything in his ability to serve the Army and his country. If the day ever came in which he would have no other way out, he would flash the white flag.

Until that day arrived, though, he would fight.

And even so, and in spite of his extensive combat experience, which started in those skirmishes against the Polish horse riders, five and a half years ago, and grew larger across the French woodlands, the Russian steppes and the farmlands of Holland, there were still things that surprised him. Among them were those girls in their tanks, and their outlandish ideas.

"What you're talking about is called a plastic defense." Messner told Maria, speaking to the microphone, and waiting the girl to reply.

According to her, the _Panzer_ IV purposely stayed behind while the rest of the other units took positions along the ambush areas determined during the planning stage for the operation. He could almost imagine Anglerfish Team, the tank hidden among the trees, Maria sitting on the radio-operator's post to speak directly to him, and her crew clustered around the hatch to listen to the discussion.

"I believe so." The girl replied, her tone as humble as always. But Messner had already caught the hints of a strong personality on the way she spoke. It was hard to notice, and most people would ignore it as it meshed with her gentle and caring demeanor. But Messner wasn't like most people.

"It's an intriguing idea. The scout teams had confirmed your assumption, though. There is an American column coming in pursuit."

"I see. We should then spread out and allow for the different tank crews to act independently, although with coordination from my part."

"There are a few issues with your plan, though." He had to admire the girl's courage, truth be told. They were indeed daring, in spite of their lack of training and being as terrified as anyone else. But that also meant that, in spite of Maria's impressive knowledge, some basic details still escaped her. "First, your fuel is limited. We have some to allow us to return to Torgau, but we can't refill you to maintain the pressure on the Ami. On the other hand, I have to question you about your people's ability to do this."

There was slight delay in the answer. The girl certainly digesting what Messner had just said. He wouldn't ever say it out loud, of course, but he didn't really mind if the girls openly said they have had enough. The day had already been brutal as it was, and they did more than anyone had ever asked of them. However, he could really use those tanks for a while longer.

"I believe them." Maria finally said, her voice shaky. "I'll give instructions for the crews to RTB once they start running low on fuel."

"Very well, then. Good hunting." And then Messner put down the microphone, his mind already wandering about the possible scenarios for the next skirmish.

Several kilometers away from the command post, inside a small pack of trees, Maria left the radio-operator's post of the _Panzer_ IV and climbed back to the command hatch. The rest of Anglerfish Team returned to their posts, while Ysabelle felt like gushing.

"Individual hunter-killers?" she said to the commander. "That's inspired!"

Maria nodded at her.

"If the enemy doesn't know how many tanks they're facing, they might as well divert more troops to face us, making the main strike force's life much easier."

"That doesn't makes me any less nervous." Simone replied. "That means we will have to face even more enemies."

"We'll have to be careful, then." Maria said. "Meike, watch the fuel. Once we're in the lower fourth, we'll pull out."

It took her a moment to realize she was starting to call her crew by their given names. It seemed natural in the heat of the moment, and, as far as she could tell from everything she'd learned from her books and her conversations with her father, it was a sign of trust and connection with the troops.

She would have preferred to get closer to those girls in other circumstances, but welcomed what she had anyway. And now, there was a job to fulfill.

* * *

Rain poured down from the sky once again. It had been falling sporadically, so the soil was still solid enough for vehicles to move over it. But it was slowly becoming muddier, and soon even that would become impossible to do so.

That was probably why the Americans moved to the narrow road which descended to the tiny village in the center of the farmland. After dismounting from the Hanomag, leaving Turtle Team safe with the vehicle's crew, Eren went to one of the buildings, now occupied by German soldiers, having been abandoned by the respective owners some time ago. It was there that he was informed that the enemy had bitten the bait. He thanked the corporal whom he spoke to, and then ran across the field, to a ditch some five hundred meters away from the buildings.

Armin was there, along with Corporal Kirstein, so Eren joined them.

"How bad was it?" Armin queried, his detached tone failing to hide the worry he'd felt for his friend.

"It's Holland all over again." Eren shook his head, and then peered over the edge of the ditch. "The Americans are almost here."

"How many?" Kirstein asked.

"A section, tanks and infantry." Eren waited a moment as Kirstein ordered the men to prepare the _Panzerfausts_. "How many tanks do we have?"

"One, hidden among the buildings."

"One?" Unable to hide his shock, Eren turned to face the other two. "Where are the others?"

"The Colonel is allowing them to act independently." It was Armin who replied. "Cause confusion in the enemy ranks and such."

"They will only get themselves killed." Eren hissed under his breath. "Königsberg and the others were lucky enough as it is."

There was no more time for that discussion. Someone yelled that the Americans were coming, so the _Panzergrenadiers_ hidden behind the ditch as well as they could. Eren still took out his helmet and peered over the edge of the ditch, making his best efforts to not get noticed.

The M8 Greyhound appeared from behind a set of nearby trees, rolling down the road, a few GIs packed over its engine cover, one of them manning the 12,7mm machinegun mounted over the turret. The 6-wheel scout car approached the village carefully, and it stooped two hundred meters or so away from the first house. The troops dismounted and started a slow run to the village, using a set of fences as cover. Behind the M8 came two Shermans, older M4A1 models. They also packed several infantrymen, which promptly dismounted and formed a perimeter. There were more vehicles in the column, but they were hidden by the trees.

The American scout team was now just a few meters away from the first building, the squad leader gesturing to his men. Eren noticed he was trembling, and felt his hands and forehead wet. Was that sweat, or the rain? His breath was gushing between his teeth, as he carefully observed the scene. The Americans wouldn't get in a better position. It was up to the rest of the ambush group to start the attack. So where were they?

It happened on the other side of the road, out of his line of sight. The _Char _B1 crewed by Master Sergeant Alexander Louis Aschenbrenner and his three SS boys, forming Mallard Team, crawled out of the small barn it had used for cover until then. It went there as soon as Messner realized the American's objective, and barely managed to find a hideout before the enemy made its approach. Now it was awkwardly moving its wide bulk over the mud, directly into the American line.

Realizing what was about to happen, the enemy started reacting, but it was too late, the _Char _B1 fired first, it's hull-mounted howitzer exploding in smoke and thunderous noise, the M3 half-track at the tail of the column disappearing behind a cloud of dust and mud as the round hit the road beside it and detonated. Meanwhile a group of troopers came out of the barn and spread out, deploying their machine guns. From behind the barn came support fire from two mortar teams, and the MG42s placed on the village proper came alive right after the first shot.

"Here we go…" Eren mumbled. He donned his helmet and rose to fire his rifle. The weapons of the rest of the Kirstein's platoon were also filling the air with their deafening clatter. One of the troopers hiding in the house closer to the American troops managed to fire a _Panzerfaust_ at the first American tank, failing to hit the hull, but cracking its right track in two. The shooter was immediately silenced by an American grenade the scout team hurled into his window.

The M8 turned to roll out of the line of fire, barely avoiding another _Panzerfaust_, probably more out of luck than skill. The remaining tanks weren't as lucky, as they were now stuck between the immobile bulks of the other two vehicles, the troops around doing what they could to defend them.

Eren gritted his teeth. This would be nasty.


	9. Captain Blake

"_Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war that we know about peace, more about killing that we know about living_."

Omar N. Bradley

* * *

IX

CAPTAIN BLAKE

It felt like it had happened in a whole different era altogether. Back then there was peace in their island, and the air was gently brushed by a calm breeze. David and Pekoe finally acknowledged the affection they started feeling for each other since the day the young man had his fight with Alvin when they finally kissed under a blossoming apple tree in a warm spring evening.

"We'll have to tell Lady Darjeeling," Pekoe declared, after they've spent what felt like a lifetime embraced and soaking the scent of each other and the world around them, like if everything else was inconsequential, "we're her best friends and she deserves to know before anyone else."

David could only agree with that. So they told Darjeeling they needed to have an important conversation with her. They were getting older, and although the young countess had their friendship in high esteem, she still needed to attend to her gathering responsibilities and to deal with the issues regarding her fiancé, an older man from a slightly smaller House, but with strong ties with the steel industry. Taking into account her schedule and the time she wanted to give her friends, she marked an appointment in the first free slot she had that week. And she only did that because David and Pekoe were taking the situation with awful seriousness, which she took as a sign it deserved more than a short informal conversation.

Theirs were troubled times. Business across the country was reshaping itself as war loomed on the horizon. Just a few months ago the German Army had stormed across Poland, and now it stood behind the _Reich_'s Western border, engaged in an awkward staring contest against the French Army and the British Expeditionary Force on the other side. It was the Sitting War, in which none of the armies wished to start what would be a very bloody affair, instead waiting for the other to make the first move. Little did David and his friends knew about the storm that was about to engulf the world.

Darjeeling finally received them in the minor living room of Saint Gloriana Manor. The room was spacious enough for the three of them and very comfortable, with a large window which opened to the vast fields of tea. It felt strange to Pekoe to have her mother bringing her the tea and biscuits Darjeeling felt to be an intrinsic part of any meeting. But she had to be there with David to tell the news to her friend.

Sporting a knowing smile in her face, Darjeeling leaned back on her chair, entrancing her fingers as she eyed the couple sitting in front of her. At that instant David felt a little dumb. Of course she knew. She'd known since day one. What they were doing there was little more than a formality, one of the things he'd felt to be painstakingly outdated in British society.

"So, tell me," Darjeeling started once the three of them were left alone in the room, "what are we doing here?"

And now David felt even dumber as he realized he didn't knew how to put what he felt into words. Fortunately for him, Pekoe had him covered. Women always had a knack for those things.

"David and I are dating." The shy redhead told her friend. "Given our relationship we thought it would be important for you to know it before anyone else."

"Oh, that's lovely!" Darjeeling spouted with feigned surprise. David could quite clearly see through it, but it still heartened him that she would make such a display for their benefit. "I always knew there was something about you!"

The couple held hands a shared a glance. Then David spoke.

"We would like to have your blessing in this."

"Of course! But come on, now. How this has come to be? Tell me everything!"

They spent a good part of the evening sipping tea and talking, not only about David and Pekoe's affair, but also about their lives for the past few years, since they all met. In the end Darjeeling admitted she wanted to have a word alone with David. Knowing it had to be something important, and wishing to also gave her mother the good news, Pekoe complied and left the room, not before giving a soft kiss on her beloved's cheek.

"You've really came far since I've found you punching other kids in the barn." Darjeeling finally said, a jocose smirk in her face.

"I guess," David grinned back, "I'm in quite the good terms with them now."

"So I've heard." With a sigh, the girl leaned on her chair. "What about now? What are your plans for the future?"

"Well, I desire of no future that will break the ties with the past."

"George Eliot." Now the girl seemed almost impressed, but she knew better than that. "You've also grown educated, which is always a good thing in times like these. 'Whoso neglects learning in his youth, loses the past and is dead for the future."

"Euripides." David had indeed made the best of the opportunity given to him by Darjeeling, and grew passionate for learning, history and the high sciences being his greatest interests.

"Indeed." They exchanged a complicit smile. "But you must understand that being you serious in this relationship you cannot surely ignore the implications."

"The implications?" Caught off-guard for a moment, David moved uneasily in his chair.

"Of course. If you are to be a couple and eventually marry, you must have a respectable position in society. I demand no less for my friend."

Now that was somewhat expectable. Of course that she would want him to be well in life, especially if he was to share it with Pekoe.

"I couldn't agree more." He admitted. And he meant it. If there was something he knew was that he would want her beloved to have the life she deserved. And that meant he would have to take risks not only to deserve a good earning but also to defend their way of life.

"Good. With that intelligence of yours I expect you to have a plan already."

"I do. I actually already know what I want to do with my life in the immediate future."

Intrigued, Darjeeling leaned forward, her smirk never leaving her lips. "And what would that be?"

A wide grin spread across David's features. "I want to go fight the Germans!"

The change in Darjeeling's face was so sudden David barely had time to grasp it. He'd only seen her express that blend of shock and rage one or two times, and it had never presaged anything good. In one fluid movement, the girl rose from her chair, gave a step forward and slapped him with all of her might...

* * *

…as did the man leaning over him in that muddy hill in the middle of Germany, several years later.

He moved his hand to touch David's face again, probably just to check on him and not to slap him, but David still grabbed his wrist, in the case he thought about applying percussion medicine once again.

"I don't think that will be necessary…" David moaned, to the other man's surprise.

"Good God!" The corporal exclaimed. "We thought we've lost you too."

David leaned forward, feeling a rush of vertigo spreading over his skull. His whole body also ached, but nothing seemed to be broken. At least nothing important. He looked over the corporal's shoulder and saw the burning Sherman some hundred meters behind him.

"They really got us, now have they?"

"They did. They also got Captain O'Neil." The man shook his head. "We've already sent him to the field hospital, but the Doc wasn't very optimistic."

Another man spoke right after the corporal. "You'll go next, sir."

Looking to his left, David saw Private Freeman, kneeling beside him. He shook his hand at the young American.

"No need for that. I'm not out of the game yet."

Carefully, he started to get to his feet, but realized it to be difficult while he was still recovering from being knocked out. Freeman moved to help him stand, and David didn't refuse his intervention this time. He ran a quick check on himself, and found several bruises, cuts, and slight burns, and also noticed how ragged his uniform was.

While he was at it, a few American low-tier officers and NCO's approached him, some of them looking rather confused. David even noticed the young radio-operator from before, sitting over a rock, looking at the group gathering around the British officer. With relief, David noticed the young man didn't have any serious injury, save for same cuts on his face.

"What's happening?" David asked a lieutenant, a young man who looked almost too young for that war.

"The Krauts attacked the whole front," he stated, which prompted David to interrupt him.

"The whole front?"

"In a way. They've pounded us with rockets and artillery. They also made a strike with infantry and armor a little to the south. Lieutenant Mignogna went after them."

He hesitated for a moment, as thundering was heard in the distance. It was actually the American guns to the west, firing over targets around Leipzig. David used the moment to look south, where a few columns of smoke joined the overcast.

"We think the Germans were preparing a second assault." The young lieutenant said, finishing his thought.

"Who's in command there?"

"Lieutenant Tatum, sir."

So the battle was still going on? Again, David felt he was needed somewhere.

"Let's give it a look, shall we?" He told Freeman, before starting to walk to the nearby Jeep. The men around him, Freeman included, stood still for a moment, surprised with his actions. When David noticed the fact, he turned back at the young radio-operator and said, "You can come with us."

The young soldier looked up to him, his mouth gaped open, obviously unwilling to go. For a moment David thought he would decide to simply stay there. After all, and in spite of the post, David wasn't actually his superior. They belonged to different armies. In the end, though, the young radio-operator stood up, and sat in the back of the Jeep.

A moment later, Freeman was also sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep, while David took the seat beside him.

"Are you sure you don't want to see the Doc?" Freeman asked.

David looked down one more time. All the cuts had stopped bleeding before he woke up, and the remaining pain was easy to bear. He'd had worse in Caen.

"I think we won't have that luxury, mate. Let's go." Turning back to the burrowed radio-operator he said, "Tell Colonel Kay to contact us fifteen minutes from now, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. What's your name, by the way."

"Luke Alisa, sir. Private first class."

"Glad to meet you, private."

The trustworthy Jeep had been built to fulfill a requirement for a go-anywhere liaison vehicle for the US Army, and it not only met the demand, but went way beyond it, being capable of casually transverse terrain that would immobilize most vehicles, even some that were much larger and more powerful. Knowing this, Freeman simply went forward, over the wet terrain, taking care only with the slopes of the hills, the mud pools and the gaping foxholes and craters.

In just a few minutes the Jeep was already besides one of the new Shermans, a M4A3E8, colloquially known as an _Easy Eight_. While David walked to meet the tank's commander, a young black man who was scooping the horizon with his binoculars, he noticed the barely clad young woman pained on the flank of the vehicle, wearing only red underwear and with the name '_Naomi'_ painted in bold letters overhead.

"Curious adornment," he told Lieutenant Isaac Tatum, while he saluted.

"I gave the tank my wife's name," the man told him, "then someone decided to give a shot at how he thought she looked like. I don't mind, anyway." He shrugged. "You're Captain Blake?"

"That's me. I've heard someone went to flush out the Jerry."

"That would be Lieutenant Mignogna. He was ambushed, and we were trying to come up with a plan to save his sorry backside."

"I see." David gave a good glance around. The troops were evenly spread out, tanks assuming solid defensive positions, with some of them gathering for the incoming push. "You have also been harassed by _Nebelwerfers_. Did you pinpoint their positions?"

"Yes," Tatum dropped his binoculars and then jumped out of the tank, walking to Freeman's Jeep while he took a map from his breast pocket, "we called artillery strikes, but they seem to be on the move, and kept firing."

He unfolded the map over the Jeep's hood, and pointed to some points in the map.

"Last launches were from here, and here."

"Two launchers, then?"

"Maybe more, but these are what we managed to notice."

David thought the whole thing through for a moment.

"Do you have armored cars that are capable of transporting some troops?"

"I have a few M20s, and a couple Jeeps." Tatum's tone showed he was intrigued by whatever plan David had in mind, and he didn't disappoint.

"Very well. Load them with the best men you have and form two strike teams. The Jerry is using these areas to move around and hide the launchers before our artillery can get them. If you strike these locations you might catch them with their pants down."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Well, I've been working in trying to predict what the enemy might do, it's part of my job, after all. Having constant access to fresh information surely helps."

Tatum pursed his lips. "The problem is if they came across a tank, or something like that."

"They won't. We're facing the 77th _Panzergrenadier_ Battalion. They are equipped with some half-tracks and trucks, and didn't have tanks until a few days ago. Even so, they don't have many to go around. Just guarantee the strike teams take some Bazookas with them. Once they find and destroy the launchers, pull them back."

"All right, then. I'll roll with it."

"Brilliant! I'll leave you to this, then."

For ten minutes or so, David waited in the Jeep, observing Tatum organizing his people and sending the two strike teams after the German rocket launchers. That was the lieutenant's job, so he had nothing to do with it. Instead he used the time to go through several mental scenarios about how things could happen from that point on, now that the enemy had made his move, and what could be done about the ambushed troops down in the farmland. He knew the region as well as anyone in his position could hope to. He'd only worked with maps and aerial photography, after all.

Then Alisa leaned towards him, from the back of the Jeep, holding the headset of the radio equipment.

"It's the colonel, sir."

David thanked him and grabbed the headset.

"Sorry for taking so long to come back to you," Colonel Kay said from the other side of the line, "but we're kind of occupied with another formation of German tanks. Panthers and Tigers, definitively SS."

"A whole zoo, sir?"

"Indeed. I think this is the actual attack and what happened down there was just a way to throw sand into our eyes."

It had to be so. If the Huns were throwing the heavy weaponry into the northern flank, than there was where the actual action was bound to happen. Even so, there was still an issue to be dealt with down there.

"I concur, sir."

"Good. But it seems our boys are also having troubles in your front."

"They are. The lieutenant sent some teams to hunt their artillery, but we still have to relieve an armored column and dissuade the 77th _Panzergrenadiers_ from coming back at us."

"Do you need more men for that?"

There was a good reason for that question. After all, the traditional rules of warfare assumed that if a unit was to push into enemy-occupied territory, they needed, at minimum, twice the troops the defender had. Looking around at what he had at his disposal, David seriously doubted he had such manpower. Even so, there wasn't even a hint of doubt in his reply.

"Negative. That's what the Jerry wants. If you allow me, I will make do with what I have."

"Very well, Blake. Give 'em hell."

"Understood, sir."

Wasting no time, David returned the headpiece and looked around for Tatum. The lieutenant was already walking towards him, having noticed the conversation.

"We're moving." David told him.

"Are we really going to do this?" Freeman asked David once Tatum returned to his tank. He wasn't very thrilled with the perspective of following that British guy into the enemy lines.

"Evidently." David stood up, holding with one hand to the windshield. Battle was at hand, and he wouldn't allow the Jerry to do what he pleased anymore.


	10. The Company of Heroes

"_War does not determine who is right – only who is left_."

Bertrand Russell

* * *

X

THE COMPANY OF HEROES

The combat was now dragging for far too long for Eren's taste. After the initial shock, the Americans had acted as the veteran soldiers they were and spread around the field, forcing the Germans to lower their heads. One of the Shermans even managed to blow a hole in the house dominating the road.

That tank was now standing idly alongside the road, its hull pierced by the _Char_ B1's 47mm high-velocity gun. The other one, though, was still active, and pursued the French behemoth, in a strange slow-motion game of cat and mouse around the village. Meanwhile, the remaining American infantry was still pinned down near the damaged vehicles, under heavy German fire. The M8 armored car was parked between the trees, providing some fire support, but unwilling to come any closer for fear of the _Panzerfausts_.

"We can't stay like this for much longer." Armin told Eren, while they ducked behind the ditch to reload. "We should take a small team through the fences to the right, put a hole in that armored car, and flank the bastards!"

It made sense. And it was Armin, so it had to be a good plan. Eren turned to Captain Fokker, who was now personally leading the action.

"Captain," he had to yell to be heard over the crackle of gunfire, "why don't we flank them?"

The captain thought about it for about two seconds.

"And who will lead? You?" The way he said that made a shiver run down Eren's spine, rendering him silent. Fokker assumed that was a confirmation. "Very well, take these four men over here and two _Panzerfausts_."

Adjusting his helmet, Eren turned to his impromptu fire team, all of them teenagers as old as he was, and looking terribly scared as stray American bullets scrapped the edge of the ditch and threw mud over their faces. At least Armin was among them. That had to be worth something.

So, he collected all the courage he could muster, and started issuing orders. One hundred meters behind him, the _Char_ B1 was now moving on reverse, going round the ditch, trying to gain some distance from the Americans, now that the surviving Sherman had hidden among the buildings. Both tanks had managed to place a few shots on each other, but they all ricocheted as they hit the strongest points on each other's armor. Assuming he wouldn't destroy that tank so soon, Master Sergeant Aschenbrenner decided to pull out for now and deal with the infantry.

The French tank's 75mm howitzer opened fire, hitting one of the buildings, puffing dust into the air and rubble down over the road. The huge explosion also caught one unfortunate American GI, throwing him into the air, minus a leg. Still moving backwards, the _Char_ B1 turned the turret, in search of more targets.

Suddenly the right side of the tank exploded, shattered metal flying all around. The Grenadiers cowered, some of them yelling when hit by overheated splinters. With a dreadful growl and the whining of trembling tracks, the _Char_ B1 kept rolling backwards for a few more meters before coming to a halt.

Eren felt the explosion where he was, or at least he believed so, as it left his hears ringing. He looked back to check the tank, now on fire, and then looked westwards, his breathing accelerating immediately. Two Shermans were rolling over the farmland, bouncing gracelessly due to the mud. At least one of them sported the hefty muzzle of a high-velocity 76mm main gun. The terrible weapons _Fräulein_ Ackerman had warned against earlier that day.

On the other side of the road more American units were entering the battle: more Shermans, a couple armored cars, which charged over the mortar positions, and even a few M3 half-tracks carrying troops and machinegun mountings. In the middle of all of that apparatus was also a small Jeep.

He turned back to the captain, but didn't need to say anything. The man was already giving the only orders he could, brandishing his _Luger_ like some old-fashioned hero.

"We're pulling back!" He yelled, standing maybe a little too high so the troops could hear his voice. Then he grabbed the radio-operator by the shoulder. "Tell the _oberst_ to order a rocket strike on our-"

Fokker jerked back as two rounds tore a pair of crimson craters over his chest. He immediately fell into the ditch. Eren wasn't the closest grenadier, but even in his state of near-panic he managed to act and move to grab the captain, holding him over his lap. The man was a mess, his uniform already covered in red, and blood trickling from his mouth.

It was surprisingly quick, Fokker tried to say something, but the only thing he managed to produce was a gargling sound Eren couldn't ever comprehend. He quivered and convulsed, and then he stopped moving altogether, his glassy eyes aiming somewhere above the clouds. Eren stood there, looking at that lifeless face, before someone pulled him by the shoulder, telling him to get out of there. His mind wondered if it was Kirstein, the voice did sound like him. But then his eyes found the _Luger_ in the captain's hand.

By that point Eren already knew the surprising fixation the enemy had on those pistols, which weren't all that good to start with. Something inside him revolted with the idea of some Americans gushing over retrieving the weapon from his dead comrade's hands. So, with a quick gesture, he took the pistol and nabbed it in his own belt, before turning to follow his fellow Grenadiers to the other side of the farmland, using the nearby fences as a cover.

Meanwhile, other troopers were dragging Master Sergeant Aschenbrenner away from the burning _Char_ B1. The man was huge and powerful, and he struggled, yelling that he couldn't leave his boys like that. He could see one of them laying face-down beside the ruined vehicle, too close to the flames for the others to retrieve him.

"We can't stay here!" One of the young men dragging Aschenbrenner away said. At this point the sergeant hissed, noticing his right forearm was twisted in an unnatural angle. A nearby explosion threw two Grenadiers into the air. This forced the huge man to finally give up, and he followed the other troopers.

The Hanomags were waiting to take them to the next defensive position, where, he hoped, they would manage to hold the line.

* * *

After his own tank had its track destroyed, during the opening shots of the ambush, Lieutenant Mignogna ordered the evacuation of the tank and joined the infantry fighting the Germans. By the point the relief column arrived at the spot, he had already spent all the rounds for his Grease Gun, and he was down to the last magazine for his Colt pistol.

When the fighting subsided and the lead tank of the reinforcements joined his troops in the village's perimeter, he immediately went to meet its commander. David walked to join them, with Freeman and Alisa by his side.

"You took your sweet time!" Mignogna said to Tatum.

"I had to organize my people, you know?" The other lieutenant replied, looking down from his command hatch.

"What is going on over here?" David asked, crossing his arms and glaring at Mignogna. The latter eyed him top to bottom, barely believing what he was seeing.

"You had to fight a cougar to get here?" Evidently that David wasn't looking his best, not with his shredded uniform and his face covered in dried blood and sooth.

"In a way," David shrugged, "I'm so very sorry for leaving you and your chaps having fun with the Huns all by yourselves, but we had our orders. But we're here now."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that you were the one who decided to go after them!" Tatum mentioned, pointing at the ruined village.

"And do what instead? Wait for them to come back at us? Weren't you back there when they burned through our tanks?"

While the two American officers bickered, David gave a quick glance around, his mind thinking about what he already knew about the enemy formation. Honestly, it was the irregular tank squadron that was worrying him at the moment. He knew they'd lost a vehicle in their encounter with Alvin and his men, a few nights ago, and again another one earlier that morning. The _Char_ B1, now engulfed in flames and with sparks gushing out of its command hatch every time a shell burst inside, was new.

He couldn't know if there were other tanks out there that his friend hadn't seen, but at least a few of them were still unaccounted for.

The shrieking brought him out of his foray. It started dim, but was quickly gaining vigor. He didn't even think, so used he was to it.

"Get down!" Mignogna was still distracted by his discussion with Tatum, so David intuitively jumped over him, pinning him to the ground.

The first round exploded against one the houses in the village, disintegrating masonry with a loud rumble. More fell around the road, one hitting the Sherman with the cracked track directly, instantly opening it apart. Fortunately no one was inside. There was yelling, and everyone threw themselves onto the ground, searching for cover in ditches, craters and abandoned foxholes. The vehicle crews simply sunk inside the hulls and hoped for the best.

In just a few seconds it was all over. Slowly, the troops started to get up again, or peeking through the vehicles' hatches. Mignonga pushed David aside and got to his feet, looking at the darkened sky, enraged with the course that day was taking.

Without giving it much thought, David allowed him to yell and vent his frustration, and turned to Freeman, who was still crouched.

"Are you okay, private?"

"Thanks to the Good Lord above," he replied, holding to his helmet and barely avoiding finishing the sentence with a 'not you'. It was the soldier's duty to fight the enemy, but Freeman had managed to avoid the fighting by performing other, and also essential, tasks for the command staff. But the day had turned sour and he decided that his opinion about combat hadn't changed even a bit.

"So, what now?" Tatum asked David.

The British officer looked up at the _Easy Eight_.

"As much as you might disagree with Mignogna, we do have to put some pressure on the Jerry. If they keep attacking our flank, the colonel might be forced to divert troops that would be better employed fighting the SS up north. We'll have to bring the fight to them." He glanced around. "At least they didn't attack us with rockets. This was normal artillery."

"That means the strike teams did their jobs."

"Aye," David nodded, "let's just wait for-"

There was a loud blast, down the road. The shell barely missed the M8 patrolling the rear of the American company. Rolling backwards to make itself an harder target, the armored car started firing with its main gun and co-axial machinegun at the StuG III which used the artillery strike to approach the Americans and make its ambush. Now that it had been discovered, the squat assault vehicle started to roll away, using the fences and scattered buildings as cover.

Shortly afterwards another blast echoed on the opposite side of the village. The M4 which survived the initial ambush was patrolling that area, and now its right flank had been torn asunder, fire spewing from the hole, the surviving crew desperately trying to abandon the vehicle, among flames and smoke. Other troops ran to help them, while the surviving tanks moved forward to search for the assailant.

"Holy shit…" Freeman's tone was almost reverential.

"As you see, we cannot stay idle." David told the men around him. Tatum immediately turned towards him.

"So, what's the plan, sir?"

Assuming his command face, David took the map from his breast pocket and started issuing orders.


	11. Panzerlied

"_The ignorant mind, with its infinite afflictions, passions, and evils, is rooted in three poisons. Greed, anger and delusion_."

Bodhidharma

* * *

XI

PANZERLIED

Major Carlo Rosso was quite understandably uneasy. Who knew that it would all come down to that, a bitter last stand against the whole world? And yet, as an Italian he would never have the opportunity to do what he was doing right now, taking part in the first steps of the future of aviation, if not for the state of despair in which the _Wehrmacht_ found itself, allowing for volunteers from all over the world to join in, as long as they showed adherence to the values of Fascism and absolute loyalty.

Loyalty to money would also be acceptable, and several ranks of the SS thrived in that regard. But Carlo was a true Fascist at heart. He'd supported Mussolini from the very start, when he marched to Rome in 1922. At the time a simple teenager, Carlo had already set is eyes in the pure blue skies, and the freedom they represented. And, in his mind, it was the strong government of the Fascists, which many believed was unjust, that allowed him a place in the Royal Italian Air Force.

He'd fought the British and the Americans over Southern Italy, during his first deployments, dropping bombs over their positions, many times returning with his airplane filled with holes, but still able to fly. Even after facing the enemy fighters a few times, he was never shot down.

When Rome capitulated and betrayed the _Duce_, Carlo deserted and went to join the _Luftwaffe_. The joy he'd felt when he was accepted and looked forward for the next opportunity to fight the enemy was quickly dispelled when the Germans sent him to Berlin to do some second-class work. He wanted to fight, not freight.

But then another opportunity came by and he was eventually accepted to join the small cadre of pilots who would pilot the revolutionary Arado Ar234 _Blitz_. A simple aircraft with a tubular fuselage and straight wings, the _Blitz_ had a ground-breaking Junkers Jumo 004B-1 jet engine under each wing. It was a joy to fly, and the power and speed it developed had nothing to do with the propeller-driven biplanes he fought with in Italy.

The world would never the same ever again, and Carlo was part of that tiny group which would change aviation forever.

Unfortunately, the Ar 234 B-1 reconnaissance jet was unarmed. That meant that if an enemy fighter came by, Carlo could only resort to its high speed to evade danger. And while in the ground the thick cloud cover precluded the intervention of aircraft, up there, above the indolent sea of white, there was only crystal blue overhead. The dark silhouette would be an easy target if anyone saw it.

His mission was of prime importance, though, and after a relatively short flight, he was able to see why. The sea of clouds extended for a wide distance in all directions but one. It was moving eastward, and to the west it abruptly ended, allowing for the sun to reveal the green farmlands of Central Germany.

Carlo knew there was an attack going on against the Americans laying siege to Leipzig, and that it depended on the cloud cover to succeed. Now, it seemed, to grunts down bellow had even less time left than the high command expected. As he made his report back to the base, he thought about which kind of drama was going on down there. What were the defenders of the Third _Reich_ suffering against the so-called Western Allies? They talked of democracy, diversity and all of that, but to Carlo, those were empty words akin to corruption and weakness.

A man like him would never understand such ideals.

The sudden shaking of the entire aircraft startled Carlo. Looking around, he realized how much he'd neglected his situational awareness, a mortal mistake somewhat excused by his need to scrutinize what was underneath him to make his report. But as the Ar 234 started to bank right, the engines screeching wildly as the whole aircraft stumbled out of control, he realized how much his momentary lack of attention would cost him.

Carlo saw the pair of silver American P-51s, probably some hunter-killer flight, passing by his aircraft, turning away for another pass. But it wouldn't be needed, as their first burst had been precise enough. The right wingtip of the pioneer jet scout bomber was wrapped in flames, fuel and oil spilling from the holes punched in by the .50 cal machine guns.

Around him the aircraft kept shaking, the nose now pointing downwards as it started to spin. Carlo held to the control stick as firmly as he could, but it was obstinately pulling to the right. Clenching his teeth, the pilot put his feet on the windshield, trying to at least control the aircraft's descent, but to no avail. The flames had now engulfed the right engine. Still working, it screeched and shook, pieces falling away as the _Blitz_ started to disintegrate.

His life has been filled with struggle and unwavering adhesion to ideals he saw as strong and necessary. And yet Carlo still craved for the sky, the pure liberating blue that was about to spell his very doom, barely realizing the ironic contradiction.

The forsaken aircraft now descending into the clouds was at the forefront of a new age, in spite of the regime that created it. But such a new era still had to wait; the old world had yet to witness the final act of its existence.

And so, the burning Ar 234 disappeared under the grey clouds, leaving a trail of black oily smoke in its wake, and taking Carlo Rosso with it into oblivion.

* * *

After wandering across the farmlands for a few minutes, the _Panzer_ IV finally came to a halt beside a small house with stone walls. Back at the village they'd ambushed the Americans and actually managed to knock out another tank, before being forced to pull out when the remaining M4s advanced to pursuit the lone German assailant. Maria already knew beforehand that they would only have one shot at that, and actually managed to make it count. The boys and girl aboard the StuG III weren't as lucky, and missed their shot once again.

"Hippo Team says they're all well." Simone reported. "The enemy didn't manage to hit them. They will join us as soon as possible"

"I'm glad…" Maria leaned back on the command chair and sighed, rubbing her forehead gently. The plan to attack the Americans from both sides, using the artillery strike as a cover was something that she came up with after Messner gave the cue through Simone. Still it had been a very risky gamble, and both crews could very well have got themselves killed due to a simple mistake.

Even so, and in spite of the spike of fear that still made her body shiver and her face feel ungainly hot, Ysabelle tried to remain enthusiastic. What else could she do? So, she turned towards Maria.

"This was great planning. One more kill and we'll become aces, and-" Her words died out when she noticed that Hanna was quivering, like if she had been suddenly afflicted by a terrible fever. "Hanna?"

The Prussian girl was embracing herself, her expression a mask of sadness.

"Those men… I've set them on fire, didn't I?"

Maria turned towards her, but the girl seemed completely embroiled in the dark shadow now covering her thoughts. Slowly, the reality about what they were doing was starting to actually settle in.

"Well… the Shermans do that." It was the only thing Ysabelle managed to say, as even Maria remained silent while Hanna's sobbing filled the fighting compartment. Actually, before Ysabelle lost her sources, she'd discovered that the Americans were working on a way to solve the problem with the fires in the Sherman tanks. If they hadn't been implemented yet, or if that crew had simply been unlucky enough to be issued an older model, was something she couldn't know.

Maria hesitated at first, but then she placed a hand on Hanna's shoulder. The other girl immediately turned towards her, her eyes wet and on the verge of bursting into tears.

"We've done enough." Maria said. "I think we can pull out now."

Hanna opened her mouth in shock. She quickly recovered her composure, and passed the back of her hand over her eyes to clean away the tears.

"No, I'm good." Her voice was shaky.

"Hanna…"

"No," she shook her head, "We can't leave the _Panzergrenadiers_ like this." She turned to Meike. "We still have some fuel, right?"

"Yes." The driver replied, looking back over her seat.

While this conversation went on, Simone had been dealing with the radio traffic. At this point she turned back to her friends.

"Hippo Team has arrived. Rabbit Team is already here too."

Maria considered the situation for a moment. Again, her left hand was twitching, although less noticeably than before.

"Tell them I'm going to meet them." She glanced back at the Anglerfish Team's gunner, who now seemed slightly calmer, although there was still a veil of sadness over her semblance.

"I'll be all right." Hanna told her.

Unable to find any words for that situation, Maria simply nodded at her, and then left the vehicle. Feeling she shouldn't leave the commander alone, Ysabelle decided to go after her.

Augusta and Erwin were waiting for them behind a cereal silo, their respective vehicles hidden in the nearby woods. The girl had her hands behind her back, and glanced sheepishly at the ground, surely aware of what the conversation would be about. The boy, though, seemed more at ease, one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other hanging beside his body, glancing at Maria and Ysabelle while they approached the duo.

"I'm glad to see you're both all right." Maria said as soon as she joined them.

"There's only us left?" Augusta asked, looking around wearily.

"That's the case, yes." Maria replied. "Mallard Team took a direct hit, and it is believed that only Master Sergeant Aschenbrenner managed to escape."

Immediately the other commanders lowered their heads.

"Poor boys." Augusta murmured. No one really knew Mallard Team, but the boys comprising it were all younger than most of the girls. That made the news hard to swallow, especially with the Baderberg tank squadron having suffered its first casualty so recently.

"Turtle Team also got hit. They've lost the tank but everyone managed to escape safe and sound."

The observation made Erwin raise his head, this time looking somewhat relieved.

"At least there's that," he said.

"What now?" Ysabelle asked the commander.

"Well, the Americans will probably move north to force us away from their flank. If we put enough pressure we might still scare them a little more."

"Seems like a plan."

Maria looked to the sky.

"I wouldn't put much hope on it, though. The rain has stopped and we don't have any real trump cards left."

It was true. The weather seemed to be getting warmer and the clouds less dense. Soon the sky would clear, opening the path to the enemy air force.

"We need to make an important decision now." She told the others.

"Do we?" Erwin seemed doubtful, although not outright hostile. Ysabelle still remembered that he wasn't especially opposed to Maria's command, and was even slightly enthusiastic of it, having followed her orders without questioning up to that point. His stance seemed to be caused by something else, maybe the commander's hesitant posture. He was a boy, after all.

"Yes. We've lost two tanks, and only have three left. I also understand that the crews might be tired and wary of fighting for much longer. I'm considering to having us pull out."

Ysabelle gasped at those words. She couldn't believe Maria, of all people, was actually considering pulling out of the battle without Messner's consent. She understood that sometimes combat commanders had to take those kinds of initiatives to save their units, but Hanna was right. In spite of their own fears, if the teenagers from the Baderberg Tank Squadron retreated, the _Panzergrenadiers _would be left to fend for themselves, without armor support.

"What?" Was the only thing Erwin managed to say. On the other hand, Augusta seemed relieved by Maria's standpoint.

"I want to know what is your opinion regarding this situation." Maria eyed each of the other two tank commanders, waiting for their reply.

In front of her, Erwin moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Is this a democracy now?"

"Erwin…"

"_Führerin_, you are in the lead, remember?" He shook his head nervously, as if trying to gather the courage to say what needed to be said at the moment. "You haven't been wrong until now. Yes, Duck and Mallard Teams got hit, but we still managed to do our jobs."

"But, Morgernstern," Augusta began, "the crews are scared. Having all those shells flying around is isn't nice."

"Nor is it supposed to be, _Fräulein_ Sauer. But we've came this far, haven't we?"

While they talked, Maria stood silent, eyes on the ground, her mind in a loop of doubt and confusion. Although when in the heat of battle the solutions came to her almost naturally, dealing with the human element of the squadron was something else entirely, especially without Anja there to help her with it. Ysabelle understood that at that moment. Maria only had her to back her up, even if she didn't realized it. Ysabelle felt that she had to do something.

"What about _Panzer Vor_?" She said all of a sudden, calling the attention of the three tank commanders. "Wasn't that supposed to be our battle cry? To represent our warrior spirit?"

As the others remained silent, Ysabelle decided to go on, moved by a strength she didn't even knew she had.

"We are committed to this! I know it's dangerous and scary, but we cannot turn our backs to Eren, Armin, and the others now!"

At that point Maria looked away, deeply thoughtful, and, for a moment, Ysabelle thought she did something wrong. And then the leader looked back to those around her, her eyes starting to regain the steely edge from before.

"Very well, then. If everyone agrees, we'll make one final effort."

Immediately Erwin assumed a more relaxed posture, an uneasy grin in his face.

"That's more like it!"

"Will we?" Augusta was much less enthusiastic.

"Yes." Maria replied, her voice hardening. The other girl sighed and resigned herself to the situation.

"Very well. One more effort."

With the decision taken, Erwin used the opportunity to make one more thing. He raised his right hand, tightly clenched in a fist. It took them a few seconds, but the girls realized what he was doing. They also raised their fists and yelled in chorus.

PANZER VOR!

And then they returned to their vehicles, ready to drive into the thick of it one more time.

"So, how's it going to be?" Hanna asked Maria once she was back to her post.

"We're going to fight one more time, Hanna." The commander replied. "I'm sorry."

The gunner smiled, albeit sadly. "Don't be. This is our job now, isn't it?"

Silence took hold of the fighting chamber once again. Ysabelle had idolized Maria for the last month, ever since she'd trusted her secrets to her. The sister of Marco Nitzschmann could only be a great warrior of the same caliber as her brother, and so she followed blindly, believing in every single of her decisions.

By now it became evident to her. Maria was simply human. In spite of everything she knew and her natural talent for combat, deep inside she was just a girl. Ysabelle sighed as the realization sunk in. And then, out of the blue, she started singing, the lyrics coming to her mind in the heat of the moment, as inspiring as they've always been to her.

_Ob's stürmt oder schneit, ob die Sonne uns lacht,_

_Der Tag glühend heiß, oder eiskalt die Nacht,_

Maria recognized the song immediately, in spite of the high-pitched voice of Ysabelle making it sound much cuter than it had any right to be. It was quite the popular song, actually, so once Simone and Hanna realized what it was they joined the tune.

_Verstaubt sind die Gesichter, doch froh ist unser Sinn, ja, unser Sinn_

_Es braust unser __Panzer__ im Sturmwind dahin._

At this point even Meike knew what it was that her friends were singing. It was fitting to their situation, after all. With the chorus repeating, Maria decided to also join in.

_Es braust unser __Panzer__ im Sturmwind dahin._

_Mit donnernden Motoren, so schnell wie der Blitz,  
Dem Feinde entgegen, im Panzer geschützt  
Voraus den Kameraden, Im Kampfe ganz allein, Ja ganz allein._

_So stoßen wir tief in die feindlichen Reih'n! _

And so, the _Panzer_ IV roared and moved forward, flanked by the M3 Medium and the StuG III.


	12. Killing Ground

"_Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime_."

Ernest Hemingway

* * *

XII

KILLING GROUND

Tatum's tanks were again on the move, accompanied by the usual assortment of support vehicles and infantry. Although the farmland was wider in that location, with less hills and trees, it was still cut through by fences, and small houses and barns could still hide ambushes.

David knew all of that perfectly well, and planned the advance with such details in mind. Still, he felt a slight hint of nervousness as the main column advanced through a secondary road, moving in the direction of a set of old houses where he expected the enemy command center to be located. It was a hunch, yes, but when he thought about it, he realized that it was what he would be if it was him. It was the best place, plain and simple.

And it was exactly because of that than an ambush along the way was all but inevitable. Although he was riding on Freeman's Jeep, just behind the _Naomi_, David couldn't help but stand, monitoring his surroundings attentively. Both the driver and Alisa seemed way more nervous, sweat running down their foreheads.

David felt that was the right moment to change things once again. He leaned over Freeman.

"Get in front of the tank."

Having already stopped to try to guess what could be running through David's mind, Freeman simply obeyed. The Jeep had no problems in overcoming the tank. Of course, the maneuver caught Tatum's attention. He saw David raising a clenched fist, and then ordered the rest of the column to halt. Satisfied, David told Freeman to stop as well. Then he dismounted from the Jeep and climbed to the back of the _Easy Eight_, where he held onto the roof-mounted M2 machinegun and leaned beside Tatum.

"What do you think?" David asked Tatum.

The lieutenant looked around, absorbing as much of his surroundings as possible. After a while he shook his head and turned to David.

"It's too quiet."

"I agree. I believe we have several ambushes waiting for us starting from those ditches over there and up to their command post."

"Can you be sure?"

David grinned. "One's never sure. But it's what I would do." Then he turned to Alisa, who was still waiting in the Jeep. "Call in the rain. Creeping barrage, starting five hundred meters from us."

Once he finished his instructions, he addressed Tatum again.

"Tell the men to get ready. It's time to finish this."

The lieutenant nodded and passed on the commands. Behind him, David crossed his arms over the machinegun to support his chin, glancing at the confusing assortment of fences, small houses and trees. It wasn't really that different from the fields where he played pretend war with his friends, so long ago. Now he was in a real military conflict, and those old memories became unexpected weapon on themselves.

And he, in spite of all warnings, of all the harm it did to his very soul, allowed himself to be completely dominated by the thrill of the hunt. It was time for his last battle in that God-forsaken war.

* * *

Several kilometers from there, one American artillery battery received his request for fire support. The commanding officer turned to the crews of the large M105 howitzers, yelling his orders to make them move faster.

"Come on, ladies! We have work to do!"

The shells were loaded, the guns aimed. In just a few minutes the men were already running to a safe distance, only the respective gunners staying behind to pull the strings which would fire the cannons. Satisfied with such a display of professionalism, the officer turned to the gunners and yelled his command.

"Fire!"

The gunners bent forward slightly and put their free hands against the ear on the side of the cannons. Then they pulled the strings.

That drill was something that had became routine to those men. Artillery was always being requested to clear the path for the advancing Allied forces, or to pound any resistance into submission. At that point American artillery had become the most precise and feared of the war, although not the most abundant or intense.

What that meant was that the guns fired with only slight delays between each other, a cacophony of blasts that seemed as though they belonged to a single oversized automatic weapon. The firing raised a huge cloud of dust and smoke, the thundering sound echoing all across the region.

It was an awesome display of firepower, and every time he thought about what it would be like in the receiving end, the officer winced a little. Anyhow, there was work to do, so he started to command his men to prepare for the second barrage.

* * *

When the landscape beyond the closest line of trees started exploding, Roy realized there was no way he would be able to hold his position. Somehow, the enemy had realized where he'd placed his troops. He couldn't really guess how at that moment. Maybe one of the young grenadiers had stuck his head a little too high when searching for the incoming enemies, maybe an unidentified scout unit had managed to pinpoint them without being noticed, or maybe it had simply been an educated guess which had struck home.

Regardless, it meant that his men had to suffer the horror of an artillery barrage. Huge volcanoes of overturned dirt raised against the skies, as the sound of thunder boomed all around. There had been no time to dig proper shelters, so his men, most of them little more than teenagers, were exposed to all of that awesome firepower, being killed in droves.

Roy wouldn't give up his country, but he wouldn't give up his men either. That fight was lost. Now he had to find a way to delay the enemy advance time enough for the infantry to pull back.

And that meant that he would have to, once again, resort to the girls. There was a moment, shortly after the barrage subsided, where he doubted, hesitated. What if the girls wouldn't be up to it? Be fed up, or afraid? But then Captain Vato Falman, who was manning one the CC's radios, turned to him, with reports of enemy tanks moving against the still dazzled _Panzergrenadiers_.

At that point the decision came instantly, without doubts, like so many times before.

Roy turned to Falman.

"Try to get through to Nitzschmann."

While the captain worked on that, Master Sergeant Fuery, who, on his turn, was the link to the other units involved in the assault, had something else to report.

"Sir, the SS regiment had to break their attack. They're pulling out as we speak."

"The good news just keep coming…" Roy hissed, sensing the urgency in his mind being slowly replaced by a calm fatalism. It was inevitable, since the very beginning that the operation was bound to fail. Truth be told, they never had the men or the equipment to be more than a thorn in the American's side. They were simply too powerful at that point, and the German leadership too stubborn to see the truth.

With a sigh, he recovered his concentration. And right on time, too. Fallman had managed to get through to Maria Nitzschmann.

* * *

"Will you look at them run!"

Lieutenant Isaac Tatum was honestly impressed. David had not only managed to hit the Krauts, but also to do so where in hurt them the most. True to his fame, the man was like some wizard of the battlefield. And now a swarm of escaping German troops, running for the shelter of the trees in the distance, was a plain proof of that fact.

In spite of the American's enthusiasm, David didn't felt as optimistic. He stood on the back of _Naomi_, hands over the machine gun, looking around, as the armored column advanced around him, machine guns and cannons firing in steady intervals at the escaping enemies.

"Too easy…" The British officer mumbled, seemingly distracted from everything but the landscape and his own thoughts.

"Captain!" Alisa called from him from the back of the Jeep rolling beside the Sherman. It took David a moment to arrange his thoughts and look down at him. "The colonel says the SS are pulling out of the fighting and moving in our direction!"

"Understood. Keep me updated." He leaned over Tatum. "We need to get this over with and form a line. They cannot break through us."

The detonation to the right startled everyone. Having managed to avoid all enemy shells for the whole morning, the M8 was finally hit, a huge explosion shattering its left side, the two back wheels jumping over the mud while the hull wobbled and fell heavily. Fortunately, no-one inside was seriously hurt.

"After him!" Tatum yelled to his men. The ambushing StuG III was already running away, this time trying to force its way to a batch of nearby trees. The lieutenant's order seemed sound at a first glance, but David immediately countered him.

"No! Let him go and turn right!" Then he turned back at Alisa. "Tell the right row to pull in our direction."

The plan devised by David, and improved with advices from Tatum and Mignogna, had the Americans advancing to the Germans in three rows. A central column would be formed by most of the vehicles they had, and was intended to act both as the main pivot of the assault and the bait for possible ambushes. The columns moving on each side, at a certain distance, would be much smaller and mobile, and were intended to gather as little attention as possible and move innards to flank any ambushers.

Now the Germans had finally made their move, and it was time to close the trap.

They weren't being dumb, though. As soon as the armored column started to turn to the right, in the direction of a couple of old and ruined barns, three guns fired from between the buildings. A 37mm round made a direct hit against _Naomi_'s glacis, and went spinning upward as it failed to penetrate. An explosive 75mm shell detonated among the American tanks, raising a geyser of mud, while an armor-piercing round of equivalent caliber slashed along the flank of one of the Shermans, jumping into the air as it lost most of its momentum, without causing further damage.

The Americans returned the favor while still on the move. Their inaccurate shots exploded spectacularly against the walls and the ground around them, but without hitting the German tanks.

"There they are!" Tatum exclaimed. "They're even using our own tanks against us!"

"It's just a machine," David yelled in Tatum's ear to make himself heard over the revving engines and the gunfire, "treat it like you would any _Panzer_."

The lieutenant glanced at the captain, obviously uncomfortable with having to fire at the captured American machine. Then he turned again towards the enemy, having understood what David's point was. It didn't matter if the M3 attacking them was an American design. It was just a machine used by the enemy. As so, it would have to fall like any _Panzer_.

Such were the rules of war.


End file.
